


In Place of a Life

by quiet_wraith



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of the Rebellion, Anxiety, Crimes Against Humanity, Crochet, F/M, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Imprisonment, Lots of OC's, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, Rightful imprisonment, The Capitol, Worldbuilding, lots of headcanons, minor AU details
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2020-07-16 21:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 265,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet_wraith/pseuds/quiet_wraith
Summary: After Coin's death, the Rebellion decides to give fair trials to the leaders of Snow's regime. Twelve men and twelve women are the 'key criminals', whose actions have caused misery either throughout Panem as a whole or in several Districts. Donna Blues was once the head engineer of the Hunger Games, the master builder of the Arenas where children were forced to murder each other. Now she sits in a dock, about to hear the verdict.





	1. Sentenced

**Author's Note:**

> I was wondering, what did the Rebellion do to the leaders of Snow's regime? The ministers, the industrialists, the Peacekeepers, everyone who had a hand in the Games or in the oppression of the Districts? It's implied that many were summarily executed, but a fair trial would be a more powerful way to deal with the criminals. It would have the advantage of revealing to the entire country the details of the crimes committed, as well as demonstrate the principles of justice and fairness that the new nation is being built on.

The voice of the Chair was quiet, but to her, every word sounded as if it was imprinted in her brain.

“Defendant Donna Blues, you are found guilty of Counts Two and Four and not guilty of Count One.”

Hands clenched tightly in her lap so that nobody could see them shake, Donna tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Guilty. She had expected that, of course, even before the eleven identical verdicts that had preceded hers. No matter how fair the trial(and hadn’t that been a surprise and a relief akin to the noose being loosened), the Rebellion wasn’t going to let the ‘key criminals’ go. Donna had known that. Her entire defense had been a hopeless refusal to admit that the rope was already on her neck, a desperate approach from an unexpected angle. Even her lawyer had considered her strategy foolish, but he wasn’t the one fighting for his life.

Still… Guilty. At least they hadn't managed to tie the actual _planning_ of the Games to her, but there was still the implementation of the Games and the crimes against humanity. That meant that in less than an hour, she would hear her sentence. The prosecution had demanded death for Donna, together with the media that had labelled her as the Engineer of Death. Would that be what she heard when she next entered the courtroom? Her mind refused to ask that question, let alone answer it. Instead, she focused on the verdicts being spoken. Guilty on all counts. Guilty on Counts One and Two. Guilty, guilty, guilty. The oppressed had broken free, and were wreaking vengeance.

Theodosius Coll was next. He had offered to be on a first-name basis with her when she had taken partial responsibility for those who had died in the Arenas she had worked on, and he - for the actions of the government he had been part of as Minister of Resources. Donna had never told Theodosius that his willingness to take on partial general responsibility combined with reluctance to name any specific event or policy(which made sense given that the Districts were rightly pointing at him as the source of oppressive quotas and demands) was off-putting to say the least. There was, however, no shortage of people willing to point it out. Their co-defendants were unimpressed with the hypocrisy, not like they were any better, and resented the glimmer of chance that Donna and Theodosius’ positions offered. 

The verdict was, predictably, guilty. It was followed by another, and it was finally the turn of Irma Slice, who had once decided what the Districts could and could not see on their televisions.

“Irma Slice, you are found not guilty of the charges brought against you and will be released once the Tribunal adjourns.”

What? Donna felt dizzy for a second and wondered what was happening before realizing that her head had whipped around to stare at Slice. This made no sense! Why Slice? Why not her, then? Donna had gotten used knowing that she would be found guilty, but to find out there had been another option all along? Anxiety squeezed her chest as Donna tried to reorient herself. Slice was leaning against the railing and eating a wrap. For a second, Donna wanted to strangle her.

For breakfast that day, they had all received a wrap sealed in wax-paper and a tiny apple Donna could hide in her hands. Both were in her pockets right now; she had been unable to eat. Slice clearly wasn’t suffering from that problem anymore. She was accepting the handshake offered by Theodosius and saying something to the soldier behind her. The defendants were all getting to their feet. Clutching the back of the bench with one hand to stop herself from trembling, Donna also congratulated Slice.

“You deserve this,” said Donna honestly if not sincerely. “The case against you was weak, everyone knew it.”

Slice seemed to be deflating slowly. “Yes, but now what? They’ll just arrest me again, and this time, the charges will be harder to dodge.” She shook her head, shoving the wax-paper into a pocket of a clean if bland-looking jacket. They had all been issued clothing for the trial that looked like something people wore in the Districts, shapeless and devoid of any individuality. Slice tried to twirl a lock of tight curls around her finger, but her hair was too short and she gave up. Another way their individuality had been scrubbed away, with removal of body modifications and the close-cropping of hair.

“Well, good luck to you,” said Slice. Donna wasn’t sure what to say, so she just shrugged. Slice seemed to realize a barrier had been drawn between them, so she stepped back as all but one of the defendants were led out of the courtroom to their cells.

\-----------------------------

Donna stared at the photograph of her children and husband that stood on her rickety table. If she was sentenced to death, they would be allowed to visit her one last time. And if she wasn’t? Donna couldn’t think about it. The air felt stifling, and she unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt. It still felt hard to breathe, and her heart seemed to be hammering away as if it wanted to beat as much as possible before the end. Biting back a mad whine that was bubbling up inside her, Donna stared at her husband’s face. Dem was smiling in the photograph, but was he smiling now? A stay-at-home parent with five children, no extended family, no qualifications, how was he coping? He always put on a brave face for their visits, but how he must be struggling.

There was a jangle of keys at her door. It must be time. Donna stared at the tiny cell that had been her home for eleven months. She would only be back if sentenced to death, but a part of her longed to return to this place that was almost like home now.

Warden Vance was looking at her with that familiar emotionless but relaxed expression. “Fasten your buttons, don’t look so slovenly!” He was from Thirteen, and obsessed with neatness and precision.

The air in the hall wasn’t any better. “The air is stuffy,” explained Donna, “and it’s hard to breathe.” The soldier behind Vance smirked, but Vance’s face seemed to soften a notch before returning to its usual state.

“Oh, don’t act like a child!” he snapped. “You are a woman, face your fate like a woman!” Chastened, Donna buttoned her shirt, even though the collar felt way too tight. How had she not noticed it before?

She was led, alone save for Vance and the other guard, through the halls. The silence pressed down on her. Her thoughts raced frantically but latching on to one was like climbing a glass wall. There was no fear of what lay behind those doors, just crushing anxiety that made her palms sweat and chest hurt. Each step seemed to be weighed with lead and yet take her ten metres in one bound. So close now. The door opened, and Donna faced the lights and the cameras and the hesitant silence alone. She had never liked the spotlight. It was not the place for an engineer, even the Head Engineer of the Hunger Games. 

Donna was suddenly, strangely calm. It was too late to worry now.

“State your name.”

Leaning towards the microphone, she spoke. “Donna Blues.”

“Defendant Donna Blues, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment.”

She suddenly realized that it was loud in the courtroom, conversation and typing and photography and who knew what else combining to a dull roar that filled her ears. Dazed, Donna looked around and met the wide eyes of Dr. Fisher, her lawyer. He seemed shocked.

Donna bowed without thinking, and was quickly led out through the doors for the last time. Her thoughts skittered through her mind, scrambling for purchase. Twenty-five years. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to throw up. How she had dreaded the words ‘To death by the rope!’, and yet, it had been almost a shock to hear that she would live.

For some reason, she thought of Slice. So unfair that Slice was already free, and Donna was behind bars for a time that seemed to be as long as eternity.

The corridor she was standing in was unfamiliar. The eleven who had preceded her were all standing there, most along one wall, some along the opposite one. Was the one Donna was led to the one for those sentenced to live? It was hard to tell. All looked glum, or pensive, or blank. Nobody talked.

Donna felt a stab of fear. What of Theodosius? Was she going to have to spend twenty-five years without even a friend?

Time passed like frozen honey. One by one, the sentenced were led in. Some looked broken, others - defiant. All were silent. Theodosius looked relieved when he walked in and was led to stand next to her, and Donna felt relieved with him, even as she worried that he had a shorter sentence than her. 

They stood there, unsure of what to do or if they could speak. The guards also stood silently.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” spoke up Thread, former Head Peacekeeper of Eleven and Twelve, “I give you the victor of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games! Irma Slice!” Donna giggled, as did the others and even the guards. The trial had indeed involved twelve men and twelve women, but all but two(former Head Peacekeepers who had committed crimes in multiple Districts) were from the Capitol. And there was more than one survivor.

“What did you get?” Theodosius whispered anxiously to Donna.

“Twenty-five years.” 

Theodosius grinned maniacally, and shook her hand. “Same!” he said quietly, smile rapidly disappearing. “I’ve been hearing rumours about the prison they’re going to use-”

“I’ve heard them, too,” interrupted Donna, shuddering. They were going to use the Supermax prison that had once held important political prisoners to hold the leaders of the old regime(not just Donna and her co-defendants; the key criminals had once been assumed to all be going straight to the gallows). Guards had passed on gossip to them. Hard labour. Scanty rations. Anything the vengeful Districts could think of. Slice hadn’t helped with her stories of the things she had went through while imprisoned in Thirteen. “Well, at least we’ll have each other?”

“Ah, friendship,” drawled a guard. “How touching.”

Another whispered loudly to Theodosius, “Congratulations! You were the only one to faint!”

“I didn’t faint, I just lost my balance,” hissed Theodosius angrily.

A third guard, young and energetic, asked Donna, “So what do you think of your sentence?”

Donna wanted to snarl exactly what she thought of the sentence, but that would just make her look bad. “Well, it makes sense to me,” she said eventually.

“Good for you,” snapped Thread.

They were allowed to talk for a minute or two, but conversation was stilted. It was as if a barrier had been drawn between the two groups who were separated by half a metre of space and a single sentence. Donna soon felt very foolish for being jealous of Slice. Fifteen death sentences had been pronounced, including Thread. Six had been sentenced to life imprisonment. 

Only Donna and Theodosius were going to walk out of here alive.

\----------------------------------

In a new cell, one floor above the old, that was to be her temporary home until the executions were over and the rest transferred to the Supermax, Donna took the paper off the wrap, and devoured it in a few bites. The apple, she ate with the seeds. She was hungry again, hungry enough to not care that the wrap was bland and stale, and the apple had clearly seen better days. Thirteen had agreed to feed them sufficient calories for the trial so they wouldn’t look drawn and pitiful, but the taste of the food left much to be desired. Would they get even that much now, she and the rest of the prisoners? The leaders of the Second Rebellion could subject her to anything now that she would be hidden behind bars.

Donna set aside the wax-paper and unpacked the box that held all of her belongings. The guards had told her secretly that the executions were almost two weeks away, so it made sense to unpack. Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, comb, deodorant, pads. Towel, extra underwear, extra socks. A book that she would get to read to the end. Paper and a flexible pen. Photograph of parents, photograph of the bridge she had built during preparations for the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games(the very first thing she had done for the Games), photograph of Dem and the children.

The children. They all bore her last name, as Dem had refused to pass his on. Donna only vaguely knew the reasons(she knew that his parents had been horrible people, that was it), and now she wondered if those mysterious reasons were really worth saddling five innocent children with her now-infamous name.

The eldest, little Donna(Dem had _insisted _on naming the eldest daughter after her; what sort of consequences would that have?) was twelve. She would be thirty-seven when her mother came home, the same age as Donna was now. Lars was nine; he would be thirty-four. Aulus would be thirty-one, but she could only imagine him as he was now, six years old. Laelia was four, but she would be a long-grown woman of twenty-nine. The youngest, Octavius, was only two now, and even he would be twenty-seven, a man with children of his own, when Donna was released.__

__And Donna herself would be sixty-two. An old woman._ _

__Thinking about her children growing up without her hammered home the impact of the sentence. Twenty-five years was going to be an eternity for them, especially the littlest ones who would never remember her before prison. Donna felt as if she was entering a very long tunnel._ _

__She reached for the pen and a piece of paper. Since arriving here, she had written notes daily, usually about what had happened to her that day, and passed them to her husband through a sympathetic guard from Eight who also missed his family. Dem wrote back sometimes, but Donna was sure he was putting on a brave face. His clandestine responses were almost the same as what he wrote in the official(and heavily censored) mail every week._ _

__Pen silently glided over paper as Donna tried to put the events of the day to words._ _

__\-----------------------------------------_ _

__Donna watched Dr. Fisher sit down on the other side of the glass panel. He was a small, pale man whose thoughts always seemed to be far away even as he focused on the task at hand. For the first time, Donna wasn’t enraged by the seemingly vacuous expression._ _

__“I suppose this is our last meeting,” she said loudly. The panel was hard to talk through._ _

__Fisher nodded. “Are you going to petition for clemency?” he asked. Donna had to strain to hear him, but it somehow wasn’t as annoying as before._ _

__Donna shrugged, trying to think of a way to phrase it. “No,” she eventually said. Neither her nor Theodosius(according to two separate guards) were going to petition. Since they had the lightest sentences(twenty-five years was now considered _light! _), it would just look idiotic to outsiders. Anyhow, Donna knew that none of them had even a single chance of getting their sentences reduced. Someone had apparently asked to have their life sentence replaced with execution, but Donna wasn’t sure who that was.___ _

____They sat in silence for a while until one of the guards present told them their time was almost up. Fisher rose to his feet._ _ _ _

____“I would shake your hand,” he said, “but the barrier is in the way.”_ _ _ _

____“We’ll shake hands when I get out,” said Donna. “After all, you’re the reason I’ll still be around in twenty-five years.” At that, Fisher smiled slightly. He gave her a brief bow, and left._ _ _ _

____Donna was cuffed to one of the guards and led back to her cell. For the next week, she would only be let out for her half-hour daily walk. How was Theodosius doing? Donna hadn’t seen him at all since the sentencing even though their cells were close to each other. She hadn’t even seen the other women when taken to wash; they were now brought out one by one. Was she going to be kept in isolation like this for the next twenty-five years? Donna wasn’t sure if she was going to last the next seven days._ _ _ _

____Back in her cell, she started a note to Dem. Could her isolation and loneliness even be described on paper?_ _ _ _

____\------------------------------------_ _ _ _

____The sound of hammering woke Donna up in the middle of the night. She could see darkness outside, but in her cell, the light never went out. It made it hard to fall asleep, and Donna was furious that she’d have to do it again now because someone had decided to do repairs in the middle of the night. She stretched out on the cot, trying to ignore the hammering and the lightbulb, with its light that didn’t go away when she closed her eyes._ _ _ _

____Realization hit her like a vise around her heart. It was probably already early morning of the day before the execution. They must be putting up the gallows._ _ _ _

____All desire to sleep was gone. Donna drew in ragged breaths, trying to prevent hyperventilation. Her thoughts raced frantically as she slowly calmed herself. Why was she panicking? She wasn’t the one heading for the noose. But the thought set off a fresh wave of anxiety, and she curled up under the blanket, feeling like she was going to have a heart attack. Breathe. Breathe. Focus on something else._ _ _ _

____Over the course of the day, the anxiety steadily grew worse until Donna was worried that she was going to have a full-blown panic attack. Time dragged on. She refused to go on her half-hour walk, afraid that her legs wouldn’t hold her. Donna couldn’t focus on anything. Dr. Aurelius, the psychologist, visited her for a brief time but it was clear he was more concerned with the condemned. She wrote a note, and hid it in her sock. Would there be someone willing to smuggle notes for her in the Supermax, or would she be limited to official mail?_ _ _ _

____She ate without tasting the food. She tried to read, but couldn’t focus. Her thoughts were darting in all directions. Why couldn’t this all just be over already? Even as the sun set, Donna felt no desire to sleep. She was exhausted, but her eyes wouldn’t stay closed. She sat on her cot, mindlessly sketching a dam on the blank page of her book. Nothing bad will happen, she told herself. Nothing bad will happen to you. You're alright, you're going to the Supermax, everything will be alright._ _ _ _

____A door opened with a slam on the floor below. Footsteps. It must be time. Donna couldn’t breathe. She sagged limply against the wall, listening to the footsteps fade. Silence. Her heart was beating so hard and fast, she was afraid it would smash itself on her ribs. The very air seemed to choke her, and Donna had to undo the top buttons of her shirt. It didn’t help, it was still just as hard to breathe. Another door slammed open. Donna started to hyperventilate, her breath coming in desperate pants. She wheezed, trying to hold back sobs, hoping she wouldn’t throw up. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold her breath to try to regain control over herself, it was her first actual meltdown in years._ _ _ _

____The doors slammed fifteen times. Fifteen deaths. Whoever it was to request death instead of life, they clearly hadn’t gotten their wish. Donna fought to control her breath, hands fidgeting with her shirt. Footsteps in the hall, it must be a guard change. Keys jangled in the lock of her cell door, which was thrown open._ _ _ _

____Everything started to fade to black before returning. Donna swayed, grabbing the mattress so she wouldn’t fall off the side of the cot. She wasn’t panting anymore, but taking huge gulps of air as she suddenly felt like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen._ _ _ _

____“Five minutes to pack your things,” said the guard at the door._ _ _ _

____Five minutes later, Donna walked down the hall cuffed to the guard, trying to smooth out her short hair which was sticking up. Since her free hand was holding her box of belongings, Donna had to fix her hair with her shoulder. It wasn’t working very well. She was exhausted, her nerves were shot, and she felt like she was going to collapse at any moment. The other prisoners were around her, but she didn’t try to nod to them or even make eye contact. They were leaving their home of eleven months, and in the face of not knowing what lay before her, Donna longed to be back in her little cell._ _ _ _

____Donna was brought to a grey van without windows. The prisoners were uncuffed from the guards and ushered inside, hands now fastened in front of them. The box felt like it might slip from Donna’s hands. Trying to figure out a better way to hold it, she sat back in the tough seat as the driver warned them to not say a word. Donna looked around, meeting Theodosius’ gaze. He looked like he had been crying. Slowly, he smiled at her, but the smile was a sad one. Donna returned it, but then lowered her gaze to her box as guards sat down next to all of them and the van sped off._ _ _ _

____The trip was faster than she had expected, but the driver seemed to have no idea that speed limits existed. Were the roads truly that deserted? Donna had no idea. There were no windows, and the guards sat in stony silence as the van bounced up and down on potholes. When the van came to a stop, the prisoners were taken out one by one. Donna looked around._ _ _ _

____It was still night, and chilly at that. They were far outside the Capitol proper, in a large, overgrown meadow cut through by a single road. Behind her was a barbed-wire fence with guard posts, before her - a prison gate._ _ _ _

____The Panem Supermax. Donna’s home for the next twenty-five years._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments welcome :)


	2. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna is afraid of being mistreated, but boredom is the greatest menace in the Panem Supermax.

The eight prisoners were led through the gate, into a hall, and outside again in single file, guards surrounding them. The night was overcast, but bright lights around illuminated the prison and the grounds, bathing them in an eerie glow. As they walked, they shivered. It was February, and the prisoners didn’t even have sweaters. Would they be deprived of warm clothing? Donna hoped the administration wouldn’t go that far, but Slice’s stories haunted her. Donna turned around just in time to see the doors close behind her with a dull finality.

She felt drained and empty, suddenly too tired to shiver. Donna peered around, trying to see as much as possible of the surroundings. They were standing between dense thickets in a completely overgrown courtyard, shifting from foot to foot, looking around awkwardly. The harsh lights made their faces look inhuman. A guard materialized out of a doorway, a wiry middle-aged man who was probably from Thirteen. Donna was fairly sure that he was the one in charge.

“Get the handcuffs off them,” he commanded. Donna had to put her box of belongings on the ground to give the guard standing next to her access to her wrists. The cuffs were unlocked with a soft click, and she stretched her arms before picking up the box. “Alright, take them in one at a time now.” Donna suddenly realized that she was at the front of the little group and tried to edge to the back, but it was too late. A guard motioned for her to follow them through the door the warden had come from, and Donna obeyed. At least she would be first out of the cold. 

The guard led her through deserted, windowless hallways, past closed doors. Donna had no idea if she was allowed to speak, but she decided to try. “How many other prisoners are there?” she asked in a whisper.

“Mostly not here yet,” said the guard. They walked in silence, footsteps seeming too loud. Donna looked around, observing the monotonous corridor and the guard, whose grey uniform seemed to blend in with the walls.“Now, in here.” They had come to an open door, and the guard motioned her inside. Donna walked in, and the guard closed the door behind her. Inside, two women in white coats were sitting at a table that had clearly seen better days. There were three piles of clothing on the table. Both doctors, if that was who they were, looked extremely bored. One stood up from the table, proffering an empty box at Donna.

“Put down your things on the table.”

Donna complied, wiping her sweaty palms on her shirt.

“Undress fully and put your clothing in the empty box.”

Since the room was warm, it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. The doctors quickly examined and searched Donna, who tried to peek at the notes they were taking. It seemed like nothing was wrong with her health, at least physically. After the checkup, a pile of clothing was pushed in her direction. Donna put on the prison uniform that had once been worn by political enemies of Snow’s regime(however, it was unlikely the politicals had ever been given warm jackets). The clothing was clearly used but in good repair, the shoes were sturdy, and the cap fit well.

The shirt and sweater were a bit too small and the jacket-too big, but that wasn’t what made Donna pause. Her back and both knees were marked with a large ‘9’. She was now a number, just like the politicals under the old regime. Just like the children in the Hunger Games. Was this being done on purpose, to rub it in? Donna picked up her box of belongings, which had been rifled through in the meanwhile and now also contained spare clothing, and waited for someone to tell her what to do. She didn’t have to wait long. The door opened(how had the guard known when to open it?), and the guard looked in.

“Move along now, Female Nine!”

Donna wondered what the guards from Nine would think of this. Especially the female ones. And what about all the other prisoners labelled 1-13? This could get awkward.

She was led to stand farther down the hall. Soon, the other prisoners were brought in, one by one. Donna’s name was now Female Nine. Female Ten was Aquila Grass, former minister of justice. She glared at the floor as she was led down the hall. Rhea Blatt, who had overseen weapons production, was now Female Eleven. For the previous decade and even during the trial, the weapons-maker had bitterly feuded with the director of the muttations program, and eventually won. Theodosius was Male Fifteen, or just Fifteen for now. Had they taken the prisoners with the shortest sentences first? Male Sixteen was Caius Best, who had commanded the Coast Guard section of the Peacekeepers up until five years ago, watching for people trying to sail away from Panem. His replacement, Septimius Verdant, limped up next. He had jumped out a fourth-floor window to avoid arrest, but hit a tree and survived with major injuries that still weren’t fully healed over a year later. Male Eighteen was the former Minister of Finances, Simon Ledge. He looked completely dead inside. Snow’s old secretary, Menares Oldsmith, was Male Nineteen. For all but Donna and Theodosius, this name change was permanent. 

They looked at each other awkwardly, trying to not make eye contact. Who could ever have predicted that such an exalted group would don a prison uniform? Maybe if they had lost a power struggle, but even if they had avoided execution in such a situation, they would have been considered politicals by society. Not criminals. There was something funny about the old elites becoming convicted criminals, but Donna wasn’t sure what exactly. The warden who had greeted them at the gate now walked up again. 

“Listen up, everyone!” he began, and proceeded to read them the rules. As he read, Donna became more and more worried, and so was everyone else, judging by their facial expressions.

He started by announcing that they would be kept in strict solitary, with only a half-hour outside their cells daily, for the foreseeable future. Donna immediately began to plan what sort of books to ask for. Or maybe crosswords? No, they would never allow it, too high a chance of forbidden topics being mentioned. Number puzzles, then. Those would probably not mention the Games.

Next, it was revealed that once the foreseeable future ended, they would be subjected to heavy labour, health permitting. Looking around, Donna had a suspicion that health would only permit for her and Theodosius. The others were significantly older, and Verdant was clearly struggling to just stay standing. However, the guard went on to explain that everyone would be put to work in one way or another, so it was probably more of a question of pushing them to the limit. Once this began, talking would be prohibited, as well as physical contact. 

Prisoners would only be referred to by their numbers, using names was expressly forbidden. Prisoners had to take off their hats in front of guards and stand up when a guard entered their cell. Rations would be the same as the lowest rations in Panem, which right now were 1400 calories a day for non-working women and 1800 for the men, and raised to workers’ amounts(1800 and 2200 calories for women and men doing heavy physical labour, respectively) when they began work. 

At that, Donna felt a stab of anxiety and dizziness, and they hadn’t even began feeding her by those standards yet. Fortunately, the guard announced that if someone lost a dangerous amount of weight, the rations would be increased. Donna felt sorry for the people of Three if that’s all they had to eat, but she mostly felt sorry for herself, as well as angry. Peace had been established a year ago, why was there still rationing like this?

Mail would be restricted to one sent and one received per week. Any other writing could be searched and confiscated at any moment, very little paper would be provided. One person could visit every two months for half an hour. The time could accumulate, but only one person could visit at a time, unless accompanied by a child under the age of four. It would take over a year for Donna just to see her parents, husband, and all of her children.

Everyone tensed up when the guard read out the punishments for various infractions. Being forbidden to send letters or be visited by family. Removal of reading and writing privileges. Meals consisting only of nutrient powder and water. Being cuffed at the hands and feet. Up to a month of total solitary confinement inside a tiny cell that only contained a mattress, with no books or anything allowed. Donna shuddered at that last bit. Slice had told her about her imprisonment in Thirteen, in a tiny cell she couldn’t even stretch out in. Donna doubted she’d last a day.

Now that all the prisoners were terrified, the warden put away the piece of paper he had been reading off of. “Now, you will be taken to your cells,” he finished calmly. Donna locked eyes with Theodosius and maintained eye contact until he was led in one direction, and she - in another. When would they see each other next? 

The prison contained separate wings for men and women. Donna was led down the hall with Grass and Blatt, none of them looking at each other. The corridor was wide and well-lit, and there was a notice board on one wall. Right now, only a copy of the rules was attached, as well as a list of prisoners and their numbers. Eight cells had closed doors, three were open, and the rest were also closed. Donna was led inside one of the cells, and the door locked behind her. She looked around the cell, taking in the view of her home for the next twenty-five years. Twelve days had passed since the sentencing. She did the math in her head as she unpacked her meager belongings. Twelve out of nine thousand, one hundred, and thirty-one. Nine thousand, one hundred, and nineteen days in the Supermax remained in front of Donna. Nine thousand days behind bars.

\-----------------------

The cell wasn’t too different from the cell in the Capitol where Donna had lived for the past eleven months. Exhausted, she unpacked her things hurriedly, eager to fall onto the tiny cot bolted to one wall. Her toiletries went on a small shelf above the combined sink and toilet, the only place in the cell where she would be just barely out of the guard’s sight. Donna carefully propped her photographs against the wall on a small table. There were no other shelves, so she put her book and writing materials onto the table as well, and shoved the box, which now only contained the old letters and spare clothes, under the cot. Above it was a small barred window. Trying to reach through the bars, Donna’s hands found shatterproof glass. No suicide by hanging, then. Within easy reach of the cot was a button, probably to call for a guard if there was an emergency. Donna tossed off her shoes and jacket onto the floor, and climbed under the blankets. The pillow was flat.

She noticed something odd almost immediately and sat up, lightbulb shining too brightly in the ceiling and stabbing her eyes when she turned her head wrong. These blankets hadn’t been used by the prisoners that had been here before. Rather, the stamp in the corner revealed that their previous owners had been the work crews from Three and Six who had worked alongside Capitolian labourers and engineers on the construction of new rail lines for the Games.

Donna huddled deeper under the blankets, hiding her eyes from the lightbulb. Blissfully, no guard shouted at her to keep face and hands visible. Maybe things were different here. She basked in the relative darkness as her mind raced. 

Arenas had all been built in the Wilds, the strips of land between Districts, and in remote, uninhabited areas. It had been necessary to build new railroads for most new arenas, as it would have been too difficult to transport everything by hovercraft. That had been Donna’s first job with the Games. She had constructed bridges over rivers and valleys, working with a combined team of District and Capitol workers. Back then, she had had no control over the conditions the District workers had lived in, and neither had she known about the conditions in the Districts themselves. How could she have? She had been an engineer, her only task was to build bridges and roads! Whether the District workers starved or froze had not been her responsibility. That had been the Head Engineer of the time, whose death had resulted in her promotion to the post, and the Peacekeepers tasked with making sure the District workers didn’t run off. Donna herself had always treated the workers fairly. Those witnesses must have been mistaken! She had never authorized any of the Peacekeepers’ excesses.

The harsh light didn’t stop her from falling asleep rapidly, though not before remembering to hastily scribble a note and hide it in her bra. Maybe someone would offer to carry notes for her, and if not, she could always flush it down the toilet. 

Donna woke up to the jangling of keys and the sound of doors opening and closing. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling much better than yesterday, and sat up with a blanket around her shoulders. It was still dark outside, but the lightbulb was glowing brightly, illuminating the two guards striding into her cell. Both were female; one was older and looked to be from Thirteen, and the other, younger, was probably from Eleven. Donna remembered she had to stand up and take off her hat, which she did, almost too late. The guard from Thirteen seemed unimpressed, but everyone from Thirteen Donna had ever seen looked like that.

“Move to the middle of the cell!” she snapped. Donna hurried to comply, struggling to put her shoes on at the same time. The guards proceeded to flip everything in the cell upside-down and give her a cursory pat-down that didn’t even come close to discovering her secret note. Were they seriously concerned that she had smuggled something in just hours after being brought here and searched? Was this going to be a daily occurence? Nothing had been said about searches last night. And the guards didn’t utter a word, either, simply walking out of the cell and locking it behind them, leaving Donna standing next to a heap of crumpled bedding, blank pieces of paper, and letters scattered everywhere. 

Cleaning up took a while. Donna put back the bedding and smoothed the blankets(Warden Vance would have been proud), she stacked the empty pieces of paper onto a corner of the table and weighed them down with the pen, and she put the letters and photographs back. She cringed as she looked at the photo of her parents. They had tried to hide it during visits, but they were humiliated by the arrest, trial, and now - imprisonment of their formerly successful daughter whom they had once been proud of. Donna tried to think about literally anything else, but the only image in her mind was of when she had told her parents during their last visit that her life was over and she knew she was going to hang. The faces of her parents at that moment were etched in Donna’s memory. They had tried to cheer her up and persuade themselves that the accusations were nonsense, but then Donna had not only terrified them, but outright implied that the accusations at the very least had some validity.

Mom and Dad must be so disappointed. How was she ever going to look them in the eye again? Donna wanted to beat her head against the wall. Instead, she picked up the photograph of Dem and their children. When was the first visit going to happen? Donna had no idea, but she still wondered who should visit first. Probably one of the older children. She and Dem could get by with letters, but the children needed to see their mother. Little Donna, then. She was the only one old enough to be able to explain to her what was going on outside.

The flap in the door opened, and Donna rushed to seize the bowl being handed over. “I would like to request books,” she said, holding the mostly empty bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. Both were made out metal so thin, Donna was sure she could easily crumple them in her hands.

“In a week or so,” said the guard. “We’ve got another bunch of you to settle in.” The flap closed, and Donna was alone with a scanty portion of rice with vegetables. Remembering a trick she had once heard somewhere, she ate slowly, carefully chewing each tiny bite. It didn’t help much. Donna licked the bowl clean, already looking forward to lunch and mentally cursing everyone whose actions had resulted in such severe rationing in Three.

She tried to do the same thing, going slowly and methodically, with her book, a thick tome on dam construction she had barely begun. But a week to read over a thousand pages! Once that wouldn’t have been enough time to read half of that, but now, empty time stretched ahead of her forebodingly. Donna started the book from the beginning all over again, carefully reading every sentence. By the time lunch was handed over(more rice with vegetables, as well as weak tea), she had only read two hundred pages, but that was mostly due to pausing at every illustration and staring at it for several minutes. Once, she had dreamed of building dams, of overseeing Five’s engineers as they built new power plants(however patently less qualified than Capitolian engineers they were), but an unexpected job offer had sent her in a different direction.

If she had just stayed in civil engineering, she would have been rebuilding the country now. Even a minor Games engineer’s expertise would have been used by the new government. Instead, she was stuck here, useless. Donna glared at the book, feeling anxious for some reason. Stupid to worry at this point, now that it was too late. That realization just made her feel worse. Fortunately, a guard arrived to take her for the daily walk before Donna could get too lost inside her own mind. Donna practically leapt off the cot and grabbed the jacket off the floor.

“You should keep your cell neat,” chided the guard. She stepped inside the cell and closed the door. “I have a message from your husband.” Wait, what? Donna could scarcely believe her ears. Did this mean she now had someone to pass notes through? Or was this some sort of trick?

Tremulously, she asked, “Where is it?”

The guard reached inside her pocket and took out a paper packet. From inside, she took out a cookie, of all possible things, and handed it to Donna. The cookie was quite large, about the size of Donna’s palm without the fingers. It had a heart sloppily drawn on one side in icing, with the initials of Dem and their children written in tiny writing. Dem must have baked it for her. It was the most beautiful thing Donna had ever seen. She realized she was tearing up, and took a large bite of the cookie. It was delicious, and the taste of the cookie just made her tear up harder. Licking crumbs from her fingers, Donna took out yesterday’s note and asked the guard to pass it on to Dem. The guard nodded, and led Donna out of the cell.

Safe in the knowledge that she could now communicate with Dem as much as she wanted, Donna found her spirits rising. Being out of the cell was also making her feel better. She was led down the hall and into the yard, which looked even more overgrown under the light of day. There were bits of snow on the ground that didn’t even begin to conceal that there was only one trail. The rest was sprawling, chest-high bushes that were so thick, Donna began to suspect that they were mutts designed to make escape even more difficult. She walked around the path, rubbing hands together for warmth as they weren’t allowed to put their hands in their pockets. The air was fresh and crisp, her face soon began to feel numb. Donna looked around the yard, basking in the sunlight and wondering why it wasn’t being maintained at all.

She also saw the other prisoners. It was forbidden to talk, but Donna managed to make eye contact with Theodosius. Had his wife managed to find a way to communicate with him? Donna couldn’t even begin to guess at how Dem had managed to get in touch with that guard, but she felt like she was falling in love with him all over again. She walked around and around, surrounded by fellow prisoners, guards, and plants, but mentally, she was back in second year of university, sitting down on her first day next to the first man who would transform her life - and the only one who would change it for the better in the long term.

\-----------------------------

They had met in an Ideology class, mandatory for all students. The already ambitious engineering student and the laid-back Lit student became fast friends as they complained about how unrelated ideology was to their chosen disciplines and how much time the assignments took away from more important endeavours, such as lounging in the library. That class was the only one Donna never skipped(it was politically dangerous to do so), and so she and Dem ended up seeing each other three times a week for an hour. Shortly after the first semester ended, they started dating. Donna tended to skip class and then stay up all night cramming, and Dem was always willing to provide company during those long nights in the library, as well as supplying her with endless snacks he had cooked himself.

Dem was an amazing cook, which made him popular with friends, even as society, and especially his parents, looked down on his love for making things himself. His shortbread cookies were Donna’s favourite food in the whole world.

After finishing undergrad, Dem continued to live with his parents for several months despite letting it slip to Donna that there was something deeply wrong there. Fortunately, he soon moved out into his own place with the help of an inheritance from a rich relative. Donna was pursuing a Master’s, TA’ing, and working construction part-time(she wanted her own place, away from her parents and brother screaming at each other, and a TA salary wasn’t enough to eat on) simultaneously. When she found out she was pregnant at twenty-five, Dem immediately offered to have her move in to his nicer apartment, and stay with the baby as Donna returned to study and work. After all, the inheritance was sizable, and Donna was not only chipping in with her meager earnings, she was already eyeing well-paying jobs. She would work, and he would raise the children. It seemed like the perfect plan, and that was indeed what they would do for the next twelve years. 

The only hitch in the plan(aside from the baffling melodrama the wedding ended up being, with two sets of disapproving parents who for some reason took offense to not being invited) was the nature of Donna’s job. Games engineers would often spend months in the middle of nowhere, rushing to finish their tasks in time. For the first six years, that wasn’t much of an issue. The schedule was consistent, she was only assigned to one arena at a time and did most of her work from home, and she was always home for the New Year. But then came an unexpected promotion. And the Head Engineer had to always, always be available, to dart all over Panem and check up on how progress was going on the next six or seven Arenas under construction, to report to Snow one day, be in the Far North the next, and finish it up by attending a Gamemaker conference. Dem joked about how the kids always made sure to fall ill right after she left, but Donna could see how hard it was on him. That lasted for four years. And then came the Second Rebellion, and the dock.

\------------------------------

The prisoners were ushered back inside. After the freshness of the air outside, Donna’s cell felt unpleasantly stuffy and chilly. She debated whether to take her shoes off, and eventually decided not to. Three hundred more pages took her to dinner, which was rice with vegetables and cold tea(was this all she would get for the next twenty-five years???). A quiet scratching at the door alerted her to a guard using the peephole. Feeling hungry and tired, Donna decided to go to bed early. If she slept more, then the sentence would seem shorter, and she would spend less time feeling hungry. Listening for the sound of footsteps, Donna wrote a note, but it was mostly a ramble about Dem’s cookie. She took off her shoes and jacket, and climbed under the blankets. It was dark outside, but the lightbulb was bright. Donna fell asleep.

The next day, Donna finished her book.

The day after that, she flipped through it again, because there was nothing better to do. Then, she reread all of her old letters. She doodled on the little paper she had left. It was only her third day in prison, and she was already going insane with boredom. Donna paced up and down the cell as best she could in the cramped space. She sat on her cot and stared at the door, thoughts passing through her brain and leaving no trace. The quiet was oppressive, punctured only by the sound of footsteps, which pressed down on her even more. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her brain felt like it was imploding. Her chest felt like it was being crushed. Donna reached over and pressed the button to call the guard.

Half a minute later, a guard appeared. She raised the flap and peeked inside.

“What is it?”

“Can you please get me something to read?” Donna asked.

The guard looked irritated. “You know you have to wait until we settle the newcomers in.”

Donna felt the anxiety grasp at her chest. “Come on, can you _please _get me something, anything? I’m going insane!” she wailed piteously. “I don’t care what it is, I don’t care if it’s a technical manual for a car, just please, give me something to do!” Donna stood by the flap, face less than half a metre away from the guard, hands folded in pleading. The guard looked unflappable, but eventually nodded.__

__“What topics do you want?” she asked quietly. “I can’t get you the list now.”_ _

__Donna sighed in relief. “Civil engineering,” she said. “Or anything related.”_ _

__“Still a professional, huh?” The guard left. Donna retreated to her cot, heart hammering. Was she still a professional? Even if she kept abreast of new developments while in here, would anyone be willing to hire her when she was released? But then again, she was a licenced engineer, and nobody could take that from her. Unless she was stripped of the licence, but what reason could be given for that? From the engineering point of view, she had done nothing wrong. Donna tried to put it out of her mind - no need to think about how things could be worse - but failed utterly._ _

__The books were brought with lunch, which consisted of soup, to Donna’s great relief. So at least they weren’t going to be fed the exact same thing for decades. After the walk, Donna leapt straight into the books. All together, seven thousand pages. That should last her until the new arrivals, whoever they were, arrived. Donna began to read one book, but soon paused, staring at a photo of a bridge. She had once built bridges like that. If not for the Second Rebellion, she would still have been building them. The Second Rebellion had ruined her life._ _

__Donna was confused, not sure how to react to her own thoughts. Hadn’t the old regime been built on blood? Hadn’t she herself condemned it? But she still longed for the happy years she had lived under it. Did that mean that deep inside, she still supported it?_ _

__Listening carefully for the sound of footsteps, Donna tried to put her thoughts to paper, but soon gave up. She wasn’t making any sense to herself. Sighing, she folded up the scrap, and hid it in her sock. It’s not like anyone would understand her, anyway. After dinner(more soup and tea), she went to bed, but sleep was a long time in coming. She was hungry and mentally drained, and just couldn’t doze off. Eventually, though, she did._ _


	3. Establishing Routine

She woke up several minutes before a guard banged on the door. Donna combed her hair as the sound of footsteps and metal hitting metal echoed in the corridor. A new batch of prisoners had arrived last night. Donna had been woken by the noise, but she had managed to fall asleep again quickly, and the recollections she had were hazy. She was fairly sure that there were a lot of those new arrivals, but that was basically it. Who were they? Donna pondered that question as she finished smoothing out the blankets and sat down, her stomach rumbled hungrily. 

The first to arrive had been the former Peacekeepers, so the new prisoners were probably not them. They had been followed by the key criminals. Donna had tried to keep up with the trials that had begun while her own was drawing to a close, but there were several of them already going on by the time of her sentencing and even more were being planned. How many had begun already? One had clearly ended, but it seemed like too little time had passed. Or maybe these were criminals sentenced by the Districts but sent to the Capitol for some reason to serve their sentences? Donna had no idea, but she had nothing better to do, so she speculated. 

Donna had a sudden realization that had to be discarded as soon as she came up with it. The trial of the Gamemakers had actually begun around the same time as the trial of Snow and was very likely to be over by now, but Donna seriously doubted any of them would be allowed to live. So who could it be, then? More Peacekeepers?

She sat on her cot and wondered, thoughts spinning in circles. When breakfast was delivered, she got an unexpected surprise. The soup portion was bigger than before. This had to mean that they were finally being put to work! Yesterday, a guard had told her that they would be cleaning the halls and working in the yard, and Donna was looking forward to it. 

Indeed, when the bowls were collected ten minutes later, the door was unlocked. Donna stood ready in the middle of the cell, ready to actually do something for once. And she wasn’t the only one. The other prisoners also looked happy at being allowed out of their cells, even if it was to do menial work. Donna didn’t recognize any of the new arrivals, the women labelled 12-19. Hopefully they’d be able to exchange a few words. The occasional scrap of news given by the guards wasn’t letting her form a coherent picture of what was going on outside.

The forty-two prisoners stood in the overgrown yard. Snow only lingered in the most shadowy corners, and she could clearly see the trees that dotted thickets of overgrown bushes. There were still no buds on the trees and bushes, but Donna was fairly sure that they would appear soon. It wasn’t too cold; her face felt comfortable even as she had to rub her hands together to stop them from going numb. What would they be doing, exactly? Clearing the area? Donna didn’t know a single thing about growing food, which was apparently what they would be doing.

The head guard strolled out, holding a set of keys. However, when he went to unlock a door, he simply pressed his hand to a small panel. On the other side of the door turned out to be a toolshed. Guards started taking out saws and shovels and handing them out. Donna didn’t want to imagine what would happen if someone tried to use one for the wrong purpose. Definitely nothing good. She listened carefully as the guard explained that the yard had needed to be ready for planting last month and they needed to work fast. The prisoners were instructed to get rid of all of the thickets and set to work with a final warning that those refusing to do so would have their rations decreased to the previous standard. Donna drifted toward Theodosius, eager to finally talk to him.

“How are you?” she asked quietly, getting on her knees in the mud and sawing clumsily at a branch. She had last used hand tools fifteen years ago, at her construction job.

Theodosius shrugged, looking around. “Bored. Slept badly this past while.” Donna motioned for him to hold the branch steady as she sawed. “The food is terrible.”

A guard was approaching, so Donna didn’t answer. She finally sawed through the branch, and tossed it aside. Next one. The guard passed them, so Donna spoke up.

“I’m more concerned with how little we’re getting,” she hissed, trying to position the saw in a comfortable way. “How do they expect us to work if we’re hungry all the time?” Someone laughed behind her, but when Donna turned around, she only saw a stone-faced guard from Eleven walk by. Maybe she was hearing things. She refocused on the tangle of branches, arm already sore. Donna put down the saw to rub at her forearm.

“I can saw for a while,” said Theodosius.

“No, I’m good for now,” Donna picked up the saw again. “In a few minutes, maybe.”

Theodosius snapped off a few twigs and tossed them to the side. “Rather hypocritical of them, huh? All that talk about justice and moral principles, but what do they do with us? Starve us and make us work. Revenge, pure and simple.” A part of Donna agreed, but another protested. She refused to believe that the new way of doing things was as bad as the old one. It made everything that had happened seem pointless.

“We’re not starving, though,” she pointed out. “I don’t think calling them _hypocrites _is accurate.”__

__A man, Male Three, crawled over from several metres away, saw in hand. He must have overheard the conversation despite their attempts to keep quiet. “Hypocrites is the word,” he said angrily. “They condemned us for the firebombing of Twelve, and then not only did they drop bombs on our children, they blamed us for it! They deserve to be here more than any of us!”_ _

__Theodosius shook his head. “Yes, but they did deal with their criminals and apologize and everything.” He inspected the bark of the bush closely, picking at it. “You go too far.”_ _

__“Too far?” The former Peacekeeper snorted. “You stick up for the Districts? You, former minister?” He looked ready to go on a rant, but a guard was approaching, so he got up and walked back to where he had been working. Theodosius was incandescent with fury, but before he could say anything, the guard walked up to them. She was a stocky woman from Seven._ _

__“No talking!” she snapped._ _

__Donna nodded, and sawed weakly at the bush. She was kneeling and holding the saw at a really uncomfortable angle, which was making it hard to apply enough pressure. The indentation in the branch was barely there, and the saw kept on slipping._ _

__“You should count yourselves lucky,” the guard said quietly. “If I had worked this slowly back under Snow, I wouldn’t have been able to make the quota. But you have no quota.” She shot a suspicious glance at Theodosius, and kept on walking._ _

__“Here, you use the saw for now,” said Donna, offering it to Theodosius. He took the saw and clambered to one knee, holding on to the branch. Donna held another branch out of the way. The two were awkwardly entwined in a way that made sawing both at a time impossible for someone of their strength, and going one at a time meant having to pull one away from the other._ _

__If only her thoughts were this easy to pull apart. Theodosius sawed away slowly, pausing after every few movements. Donna’s arm was sore, but she didn’t move. She could have probably done it faster, but the guard was right. There was no quota, nobody would be in danger of starving to death if they worked too slowly. In this way, of course, it was wrong to compare the situations. But what about everything else? When Donna and the other defendants had found out that those bombs had been dropped by Thirteen, they had been elated, hoping that this meant that there was no way the Rebellion could try them for crimes that they themselves had committed. Now, Donna found that foolish. Yes, the Second Rebellion had done terrible things as well, but actions of that calibre did not lend themselves to this kind of balanced bookkeeping. And, of course, there was the simple fact that the Districts had been right to rise up against the Games and against the horrible conditions in which they had lived._ _

__“What are you thinking about?” asked Theodosius, pulling Donna out of her thoughts._ _

__“Nothing, really,” she lied. “Here, I’ll take over for now.” Donna quickly sawed off some thin branches, almost twigs, and got halfway through a thick branch before giving up and passing the saw to Theodosius. She flopped onto the ground and looked around, observing the situation. The prisoners were slowly working; the yard didn’t look any different from what it had looked like that morning. The guards, who noticeably outnumbered the prisoners, were walking around or chatting to each other. Donna was fairly sure guards weren’t supposed to act like that, but then again, these people weren’t professional guards, they were soldiers who had been assigned to guard the Supermax instead of going home. She could see the guards in the towers as well, but barely. The guns pointed at them were slightly unnerving._ _

__“You know,” she said, “I thought we’d be better guarded. I mean, it’s the Supermax, most secure prison in Panem, not a single escape ever. And what prevents us from running away? Bored soldiers with guns, a bunch of really dense bushes, a tall stone wall, and an electrified fence. I thought it would be more. Unless maybe the bushes are secretly sapient. You never knew with Cotillion.” The director of the mutts program had had some really weird ideas._ _

__Theodosius laughed with Donna before turning serious again. “Maybe they took some defenses away. They wouldn’t have wanted to keep activated pods around.”_ _

__Donna hadn’t even thought of pods._ _

__“Still,” she smiled, “imagine what will happen when the press finds out just how lightly we’re guarded. A guard told me a few days ago that there’s already rumours of someone trying to break us out. Or maybe blow up the prison. With us still in it.”_ _

__Theodosius nearly dropped his saw from laughing too hard. “You know, I bet if someone actually blew us up, the government would give them a medal.”_ _

__“Maybe the bushes will murder us in our beds.”_ _

__Eventually, they were taken back to their cells for lunch(vegetable stew, bread, and tea). Donna doffed her cap when approaching a guard. Theodosius forgot, and got chewed out for his mistake. After lunch they worked in the garden again._ _

__“How was the food?” Donna resumed the slow and steady sawing, arm sore, fingers clenching and unclenching painfully. The pain, at least, distracted her from her hunger. Even immediately after eating, she was hungry. When was this going to end? Donna wanted to cry. To distract herself, she began to saw more furiously._ _

__“Not enough,” grimaced Theodosius as he angrily broke off a twig. “I am _this _close to trying to eat this bush - oh, come over here!” That last bit was directed at Ledge, who was walking by. The former minister was of average height, but he was so skinny and stooped so badly, he looked much smaller. Ledge ambled over, raising an eyebrow. Theodosius looked around, reached into his trousers pocket, took out a piece of bread, and tossed it to Ledge, who swiftly stuffed it in his mouth. Donna looked on in confusion as Ledge nodded with a baffled facial expression and kept on walking.___ _

____“What?” Theodosius said irritably, taking the saw from her. “You’re not the one who has to hear him whine to the guards every day about how hungry he is. And look at him, he’s the skinniest of all of us! Damn administration doesn’t even have the decency to tie our rations to our actual caloric requirements. _They _get all they need, or at least everyone gets the same percent of what they need, but we’re at the mercy of our metabolisms.”___ _ _ _

______“Wait, where did you hear that? I thought we’re getting the same rations as Three.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“A guard told us. Did you not hear about it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Huh, really? The guards don’t really tell us about what happens in your wing. I guess they don’t get to interact much. Well, didn’t.” Donna waved a hand weakly at the guards walking by, a man from Twelve and a woman from Two. “You think they are actually just...I don’t know, messing with us?” Theodosius had stopped sawing, so Donna took over again. Would this bush ever end?_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I think they’re capable of anything. Right?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Donna sneaked a glance at a clump of guards who were solving a crossword while sitting on a small empty patch of ground next to the wall. So many different Districts represented. It seemed that it was here, of all places, that the new society of equitable cooperation that the media were heralding was truly reality._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I don’t know,” she said. “But I doubt it. I think they’re too afraid of looking bad.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“True. Wait, did I tell you about Verdant’s cluster headaches being back?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______During the trial, Verdant had missed two weeks because of excruciating headaches that, as it turned out, were an annual occurrence for him. Everyone had at first assumed that they had been caused by his brain injury sustained in the fall, and spent a lot of time arguing over whether they would prevent him from standing trial._ _ _ _ _ _

______“No. Did he wake you up?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Theodosius was practically vibrating with fury. “Yes. Night before last. He started screaming in pain, woke us all up. Then the orderlies spent what felt like an hour running back and forth down the hall. And then _last _night, the new arrivals were brought in at some insane hour of the morning. Did you notice?”___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yeah, but I fell asleep pretty quickly.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Lucky. Do you know who the new arrivals are?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No. Want to try to talk to them?” Donna pointed at Male Eighteen, who was sawing at a bush just a few metres away. The man turned away from them demonstratively when he saw that they were looking at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No,” said Theodosius, noticing the gesture._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Donna returned to her cell that evening feeling worn out, but not too bad. Maybe the physical exhaustion would make it easier to sleep. She knew that several of the prisoners, including Blatt, took sleeping pills regularly, but Donna didn’t want to get into the habit. She read a few chapters of one of her books. After writing her daily note and hiding it in her bra, she flopped onto the cot and climbed under the blankets. Sleep was a long time in coming, but eventually, it did._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\----------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The next day, the nineteen women had their cells unlocked in the morning. Shaking out sore arms, Donna stepped out into the hallway, looking around for someone to tell her what to do. She expected that they would be sent to the yard again, but instead, they were handed mops and brooms and ordered to clean the corridor and also their cells. She was temporarily disappointed at not being able to see Theodosius, but that soon faded as she talked with the other prisoners and found out who the new arrivals were._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Who are you?” asked a pale middle-aged woman with short brown hair and brown eyes. Donna herself had no idea who this woman was, but it seemed strange to Donna to not be recognized._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m Donna Blues. Did you not get the news during your trial?” she whispered. Maybe the other woman hadn’t had any access to newspapers? Or maybe she was just really bad with faces. “Who are you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The woman looked slightly taken aback. “Oh, wow, I really didn’t recognize you in these clothes. You were my bosses’...colleague? Well, you were on the same level as them. I was an assistant Gamemaker. My name is Lutetia Novik.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________That made sense, but there was still something off. “Wait, but a lot of the assistants were young. I’m still the youngest one around here, or at least that’s what it looked like yesterday.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Novik shrugged, trying to soak the mop in a bucket without tipping it sideways. “Actually, not anymore. You’re the...second-youngest now? How old is Coll?” She began to mop the floor, leaving huge puddles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We’re the same age,” grunted Donna as she moved over the bucket. “Also, I think you’re supposed to squeeze out the mop before using it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Really? Ah well. We can just spread out the water. Anyway, a bunch of the younger assistants got off completely, or they got less than five years so they didn’t bother sending them here.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Donna gingerly stepped onto the washed part of the floor, trying not to slip. “That’s strange. I’d have thought they’d be tossing everyone who was even vaguely involved with the Games in here.” Maybe they didn’t want to have mass releases too early? She swept her mop against the bottom of the wall, watching the wet section of the floor grow. It was kind of satisfying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Anyway, Hryb is here.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Who’s that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Novik stopped mopping and looked at her strangely. “He was the youngest Gamemaker,” she said. “I thought you spun in those circles. He was the only one not sentenced to death, even though he had worked on the Games pretty much since graduation and was promoted to full Gamemaker just before the Seventy-Fifth.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Donna stopped as well and leaned on her mop, baffled. “How did _he _manage to slip out of the noose?” She had thought that all the Gamemakers would be joining Snow, especially given that their trial had started under Coin.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Novik shrugged. “I could ask the same of you and Coll. I guess he wriggled really well. Not that I’m complaining, I’m out of here in five years.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Good for you,” said Donna with zero sincerity. She resumed her mopping as the two women continued to discuss the little scraps of knowledge they had managed to acquire._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“How could you be unaware of who Hryb was? You were Head Engineer, you spent so much time with the Gamemakers.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I was unaware of a lot of things despite my rank,” Donna said acidly. “I didn’t sit in at Gamemaker meetings, you know. I just met with the Head.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Huh, really?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Yeah. I never looked beyond my actual work. Never saw the need.” There was an awkward pause as the two women concentrated on their mopping. “Anyway, so who are the rest of you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________\-----------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________At lunch, there was a change. Instead of being handed their meals through the door, they were let out one by one to pick up their food. There were no explanations given. They had bread with their stew again, and Donna saved a piece of hers, not sure why. Did she want to make Ledge respect her? It seemed foolish to give away food when you yourself were hungry, but Donna still put the bread in her pocket, instead of her mouth. After all, the sooner her weight dropped too low, the sooner administration would feed her better. It’s not like she was actually starving._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Unfortunately, she didn’t get to hand over the bread immediately. She and four other women were taken to do their laundry. Donna had washed her underwear with soap in the sink, but now she would be able to get the dirt off her trouser knees. Her hands, too, were grimy. Maybe scrubbing clothes would get them clean. Donna had no illusions about how the laundry would be done. The chance of washing machines being available for the prisoners was zero, so that they would be forced to do demeaning, physical work. In her cell, Donna put on her spare trousers, which weren’t as warm, and transferred the bread to then. Then, she picked up her dirty things and went to the laundry room with the others._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Two guards, a woman from One and a woman from Four, fanned themselves with one magazine as they pored over a crossword in another in the hot and humid room that made Donna feel like she was boiling alive. The five women poked at pots of hot water and clothes with sticks and introduced themselves to each other in whispers. Female One, Trotman, a Peacekeeper who had served in Five and Two. Female Seven, Katz, former Head Peacekeeper of Nine. Females Sixteen and Eighteen, Drape and Fabula, had both been Gamemaker assistants. All took off their shoes and socks to prevent them from getting wet, rolled up their trouser legs, and took off their shirts and caps. It was so hot next to the steaming water, even the undershirts seemed too warm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“How long have you been here?” Drape asked, craning her head back to make eye contact with Trotman. Trotman wiped at her face with her undershirt before tossing it into the water with her other clothing and answering._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“A few weeks.” She effortlessly picked up the laundry with the stick before tossing it back and moving it around the pot. Donna nearly fell over trying to do the same, her arms were too sore from using the saw yesterday. And Trotman had to be a good ten years older than her, going by the white hair and weather-beaten dark skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“And what did you do all that time?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Cleaned the halls and read,” grunted Trotman._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Wait, cleaned the halls? “You worked before we got here?” Donna asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Yes.” So why had Donna spent over a week in strict solitary, then? The administration seemed more and more chaotic by the day._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________One of the guards, the one from Four, looked up at them. “Female Seven, what is the most common type of volcanic rock? Six letters.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Katz and Trotman replied in unison. “Basalt.” Katz giggled softly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Her first name is Basalt,” she explained to the other three. Trotman sighed irritably._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Better than being named _Flora _. Were your parents from Two or the Capitol?” Suddenly, they looked ready to fight. Where had that come from? The guards looked up from their crossword, tense like coiled springs.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Oh, sure, chide me for my moral failings, why don’t you? But maybe later. Like in eight years. When you get out. Unlike me.” The two were carefully standing three metres apart, arms crossed on their chests. The guards relaxed slightly, but didn’t pick up their magazines. The guard from One had her wrist slightly raised, ready to speak into her communicuff._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Fabula leaned over to Donna. “Is this normal?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I have no idea, I only just met them.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The two former Peacekeepers were still arguing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Well, _former _Head Peacekeeper, I am sorry my connections were insufficient to promote me to your former position.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“I’m sure you must be grateful for the opportunity to dump all your crimes on your higher-ups.” Donna shot a worried glance at the guards, but they didn’t react at all to that statement. She supposed they didn’t want to bother stopping every little squabble full of cheap boasts and lies._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Trotman’s posture changed. She bent her knees slightly and leaned forward, as if preparing to leap. “Oh, this old argument again? Here’s something new for you to chew on.” She looked positively gleeful. “Speaking of dumping crimes on others...would a real woman from Two be still standing here before me? Or would she have told everything as it was, no matter the consequences?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Katz didn’t reply directly. ”Wow, did you think of that last night? Maybe you should ask that question of the mirror.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Donna hoped the bread in her pocket wouldn’t go soggy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Trotman turned away demonstratively, and announced that the clothing now needed to be rinsed. The four others obeyed. They took their laundry out of the pots, squeezed out the soapy water(it was so hot it scalded Donna’s hands, already sensitive from working yesterday), and put it on a table next to the clean water. They rinsed their laundry one article of clothing at a time, squeezing it out carefully. The fabric rubbed the tender skin on Donna’s palms uncomfortably, but it wasn’t too bad. There wasn’t that much laundry, after all. She didn’t bother to fold it up, as she’d need to spread it out to dry, anyway. They went to get dressed, rolling down their trouser legs and pulling on shirts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Female One, where is your undershirt?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Trotman looked confused. “Is it a prison rule that I need to wear an undershirt? It was dirty, so I decided to wash it.” She lifted the damp article of clothing from the table._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Donna wiped her feet on her trousers and put on her socks and shoes. The socks were hard to pull on from all the dampness. The guard didn’t respond to Trotman’s questions, instead ushering the five women into the hall and leading them back to their cells._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Um, guard? When do we get to shower?” Donna washed herself every day in the sink, but a real shower would be so much better._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Tomorrow. Now, lay out your clothes to dry, and get back out here. You’re working in the yard next.” Well, now she’d be able to give Ledge the bread. Donna was regretting the entire idea, but now she’d have felt even stupider if she ate the bread. It was probably dirty from being in her pocket, anyway. She lightly touched the outside of the pocket to make sure the bread was still there, and lay out the laundry on the radiator. It fit alright. Hopefully the trousers would be dry by tomorrow, Donna doubted the ones she was wearing at the moment were warm enough for the weather._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Donna turned out to be wrong. She felt decidedly cool, but not enough to be uncomfortable. Walking up to Theodosius, she passed Ledge, and clumsily stuffed the bread in his pocket as she walked. He looked strangely at her, but didn’t react otherwise. Theodosius waved at her with the saw, and handed her a second one. They would both work at the same time, instead of switching off to rest like yesterday._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“How was laundry? A guard told me I’m doing mine tomorrow.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Breaking off a twig, Donna answered. “Alright. Boiling hot, though. And inefficient. Are they really gonna have us go ten at a time when there’s more of us? That will take days.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Theodosius snorted. “Inefficient? Well, what else could it be? This is the _Supermax Inter-District Prison _, everything has to be thrown together at the last moment and make no sense. I’m amazed the Districts are still cooperating so well, did you hear the news?” Another trial had started, of the Training Centre staff. Far from running out of energy and slinking back home to rebuild, the District representatives’ united quest for justice was only heating up despite their leaders’ desires to untie themselves from each other and the Capitol. At this rate, they actually would indict half the city, as Paylor had half-jokingly threatened.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Donna nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think so. Sure, the Districts are trying to distance themselves from each other, you know, decentralization and whatever, but that just means they’ll hold on tighter to the Supermax as the one place they have to actually work together.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“True. So, anything interesting happen while we were apart?” Theodosius looked eager to change the topic, and Donna didn’t blame him. If the Districts decided to hold on firmly to the Supermax, there would be no early release no matter how many notes Donna sent to influential people._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Trotman and Katz started bickering for some reason.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Theodosius looked eager for fresh gossip. “What happened?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Not sure.” What _had _happened? “One of the guards asked for help with a crossword, and then it escalated from there.” Donna explained the spat as best as she could remember.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Wait, so Trotman wasn’t a Head?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Yeah. Hey, look, we’re pretty much done with the above-ground bits of the bush!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________The bush was bigger than any bush had any right to be. “Yeah, I noticed,” Theodosius said, pointing to a shovel. “That’s why I got this. We gotta dig out the roots somehow.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Weren’t the roots practically guaranteed to be deep and impossible to pull out? “Anyway, Trotman was pretty high-ranked, but she got relocated to Two instead of staying in Five, and she just wasn’t connected enough to get promoted further in Two of all places.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Why did she get relocated, then?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Donna vaguely remembered the incident from before, though it was only now that she was being able to put a name to events. “She was tough on anything that even vaguely looked like rebellion, and merciless with actual rebellion, no matter how small. She interpreted orders really loosely. Once, she caught a youth spray-painting slogans that could have been interpreted as anti-Games, and shot him on the spot. He turned out to be the son of the mayor, who somehow had dirt on the Head, don’t ask me how. Peacekeeper Command ended up getting involved. Lux himself told the District she would be punished, but she got promoted instead. Although it was a promotion with no further chance at promotion, so who knows.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Did you follow her trial?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Only enough to know her excuse was garbage.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Theodosius grimaced angrily. “She shot people for petty little crimes and got eight years, and we’re stuck here for twenty-five. I mean, really! Doesn’t everyone know that most of the Peacekeepers did whatever they wanted in the Districts? That ‘orders are orders’ crap makes me want to punch them in the face. Do you know about Cray?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Yes.” Donna wasn’t sure if his acquittal had been caused by his actual actions and inactions, or by the fact that the Rebellion had pulled him out of the Supermax. He had been the extremely lax head of Twelve, tolerating any and all rule breaking, even buying game from poachers and refusing to electrify the fence, claiming that the outages that had constantly hit Twelve applied also to the fence, even though they hadn’t. Eventually, Snow had decided to crack down on the District, and replaced him with Thread. Donna laughed softly as a realization hit her. “Lucky for Cray he fell out of favour, huh? Otherwise he’d have been sitting next to us, explaining the firebombing of Twelve to the very unimpressed prosecution. But instead, all he has to worry about are the underage girls he slept with.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Wait, they re-arrested him?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Yep. A girl from Twelve was rather annoyed at him being presented as a borderline rebel, and spoke up.” Of course, the two were not mutually exclusive, but still._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Anyway, I was talking to Pitrock-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Donna swore as the saw slipped, cutting her hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“-are you alright?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________The cut was long but shallow. “Yeah, yeah. Who’s Pitrock?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“He’s the one who talked to us yesterday. You know, Male Three? Are you sure you’re alright? You’re bleeding pretty heavily.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Donna shook him off and went back to sawing. “So what did Pitrock say?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Theodosius shrugged, smiling. “Called me a traitor in front of the other ex-Peacekeepers. They all nodded along.” That must have been painful. Just because they didn’t have what it took to tell the truth didn’t mean they could mock those who did._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Ouch. Katz and Trotman didn’t say anything to me. Maybe they’ll start on later.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________\------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Just before dinner, Donna was taken out of her cell and led to the infirmary to be weighed. Unfortunately, it turned out she had lost very little weight and was thus stuck with the current rations. According to the notes Donna snuck a peek at, she was firmly in the healthy range after two weeks of hunger. Height - one metre sixty-four centimetres, weight - sixty kilograms, down from sixty-three on arrival. How long would it take to dip below fifty, which, according to a note in the doctor’s books, was the point at which altering rations could be considered for someone of her height? At this rate, she would be hungry until the day she got released. When were they going to be fed properly? Why was there still rationing, anyway? Was the country rebuilding itself or not?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Back in her cell, Donna solved number puzzles from a thick book. She had heard somewhere that doing puzzles was good for keeping your brain functioning properly, and she definitely needed something like that. After an hour and twenty pages, she wrote her daily note. Now she only had one piece of paper left. She’d use it up, and then what? They would probably only give her paper for her letters, and they’d notice it if blank pages from books were torn out. What was she going to do then? Use the toilet paper?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________The thoughts were threatening to choke her, the very idea that she would be unable to write her notes home nearly sent Donna into an anxiety attack. She sat on her cot, trying to hold back tears. Maybe she should just write the letter now, get over with it. The more she sat and brooded, the better an idea it felt like._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Careful to avoid forbidden topics - the food, recent history in general, the Games specifically, conditions in general, health specifically, and potential early release - Donna wrote a letter to her family. It was mostly just asking after how everyone was doing. It felt bland to her, but a guard told her that Theodosius had to rewrite his because of a throwaway line about Verdant’s cluster headaches not letting the men sleep. Bland was probably better._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Donna was able to pass on her notes from the past few days to the sympathetic guard, who told her that searches would now only happen when the prisoners were out of their cells. That made sense. For the past two days, her cell had not been searched in her presence. Feeling slightly relieved now that the notes were passed on, Donna took off her jacket, shoes, and cap, and climbed under the blankets. The lightbulb burned brightly, but when she pulled her blanket over her head, it was dark, though stuffy and hard to breathe. Maybe she should complain about the lightbulb, say it’s not letting her sleep. Although what if administration was feeling vengeful? That could just make everything worse._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna contemplates guilt and argues about it. Also, cake.

Donna had only heard the verdict once, but it was engraved on her brain. The words spun through her mind, over and over and over. She tried to distract herself, but nothing stopped the sentences from following each other, one by one.

_Blues joined the Hunger Games in 66 as one of the engineers responsible for establishing transportation links. In 71, she was promoted to Head Engineer. In this position, she closely collaborated with the Gamemakers in their criminal endeavours and often spoke in favour of the Hunger Games. Blues had little influence with Snow beyond the leeway granted by her official position, but regularly used it to alter existing plans for the Hunger Games, often in ways that would make it more appealing to the Capitolian audience and more agonizing - to the Tributes._

_During her first six years in the employ of the Hunger Games, Blues had responsibility over a combined crew of Capitolian and District workers. When Blues was not present on the site of construction, another engineer supervised the workers and reported progress, disciplinary infractions, and punishments to her daily. Under Blues’ supervision, the workers from the Districts were treated much worse than their Capitolian counterparts. They could be fired over the smallest error, and Blues always sent them back to their Districts with a black mark opposite their names in their files, making further employment almost impossible for those workers. Blues was aware of the conditions in the Districts and the struggles the fired workers were forced to endure, but persisted in her draconian measures._

_The food the workers received was of lesser quantity and quality, and the same held for their shelter. They were not allowed to contact relatives back home, while workers from the Capitol enjoyed regular phone calls to their families. The Peacekeepers guarding construction sites had orders to fire at the slightest provocation, and Blues allowed her workers to be shot without warning for accidentally wandering a step too far into the woods._

_Defendant Donna Blues, you are found guilty of Counts Two and Four and not guilty of Count One._

_Defendant Donna Blues, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment. ___

__She sat on the edge of her cot, feeling the cold floor with socked feet, trying to think of anything else. The words spun in her mind, threatening to drown her. Donna sighed, and stood up. It was probably almost six already, anyway. Time to get ready for the day. She reached over to the radiator, checking if her clothes were dry. Since they were, Donna pulled on her warm trousers instead of the ones she was wearing now. Now, she wasn't as cold anymore. It was almost pleasant, or would have been without the words that were imprinting themselves on her mind.__

____

____

_Defendant Donna Blues... ___

__

____She tried to shake the words from her mind as she thought about what to do next. Since she’d get to shower today, Donna didn’t wash herself in the sink. Instead, she only scrubbed her teeth and half-heartedly combed her hair, which was growing out slightly. She spread out the blankets neatly on her cot, grabbed the number puzzles and a pen from her table, and sat down to wait for breakfast. Donna had only written down a few numbers when unexpectedly, her cell door was unlocked, and the sympathetic guard stepped in. Donna leapt to her feet, taking off her cap._ _ _ _

__

____“Relax. I’m the only guard on duty for the next twenty minutes.” Donna put her cap back on, relaxing slightly. “I have a message from your husband.” The guard took a note out of her pocket, and passed it on to Donna, who smiled as soon as soon as she read the first word._ _ _ _

__

_”Happy early birthday! Hope you like the gift.” ___

__

______Donna’s birthday was almost a week away, but she appreciated it anyway. “Is there anything else?” she asked. What was the gift supposed to be?_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______The guard reached into the inner pocket of her uniform coat, took out a paper package, and set it on the table. “Don’t get caught,” she said, and left, locking the door behind her. Donna heard footsteps fading away. She carefully tore open the paper, revealing cake._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______What? Was Dem insane? Donna didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. She stared at the cake, noticing that a piece had been cut off. A bribe for the guards? Well, bribe or not, if she was caught with the cake, it would be total solitary. But how to eat it? There was simply too much. And what was she to do with the paper?_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Both problems were solved when she noticed that a piece had broken off. Donna decided to save a piece for Theodosius, wrapped in the paper. He could decide what to do with the paper. Maybe bury it in the garden, or use it for notes home. Donna wondered if any of the other prisoners sent clandestine notes home. Probably._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Even after deciding to not eat the broken-off bit, there was still too much cake for her to eat. Donna was hungry, but she doubted she was hungry enough for this much food. She carefully broke off a piece with her hands, and ate it. It was impossibly sweet, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. And she wouldn’t be hungry this morning, too! This was amazing. She broke off pieces carefully, trying not to spill crumbs. Not being hungry was so incredible, and the cake was just so sweet! How could she ever have taken the feeling for granted?_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Donna kept on eating the cake even after she became full, stopping only when the piece she was saving for Theodosius was all that remained. Feeling slightly ill, she wrapped the piece in the paper and put it in her coat pocket. Had it really been necessary to eat the entire thing? Maybe she could have saved some for that afternoon, at least. Donna breathed heavily through her mouth, feeling like she was going to throw up. That would be such a waste. She continued her number puzzle, kicking herself mentally. The amount of calories would have been the same, anyway, and she would have gotten more enjoyment out of the cake if she had eaten it slowly, instead of devouring the entire thing at once. Just thinking about the cake made Donna feel sick, so she focused on the sudoku. Slowly, she filled in the grid._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Boots stomped in the halls as cell doors were unlocked. Was it breakfast time already? Donna doubted she could eat a single bite. Prisoners were called to get their food one at a time, in numerical order._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Female Nine!”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Dragging her feet, Donna walked up to the cart, passing several others who were already eating enthusiastically. A bowl was shoved into one hand, and a cup of tea-into another._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Female Nine, are you ill?” asked a guard._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“No,” Donna said hurriedly. Next to her, Grass was grabbing her food and was about to go back when the guard motioned her to stay._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Female Ten, I am giving you a warning.” Grass raised an eyebrow and tried to stand straighter. Donna watched the proceedings instead of going back to her cell, hoping she’d have something interesting to tell Theodosius._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“What for?”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______The guard leaned closer. “Do not provoke the black-haired male guard from Ten in any way, shape or form. Do not give him the slightest excuse to be irritated at you, and do not mention your wife in his hearing!”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______What did Grass’ wife have to do with anything? Grass herself seemed just as confused._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Because,” the guard answered her query, “he was unable to marry his husband before the Rebellion. And he was rather upset at finding out yesterday that the person who upheld that law did not have it apply to her.” Same-sex marriage had been illegal in the Districts for reasons Donna had never understood._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Donna quickly went back to her cell before Grass could go on a rant. Perched on her cot, Donna contemplated the porridge. It would look suspicious if she didn’t eat, so she forced herself to eat a spoonful, and then another. By the time the bowl was empty, she was covered in cold sweat and shaking. This had been a monumentally stupid idea. She lay down on her side, but a guard commanded them to step outside almost immediately after._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Are you sure you’re not ill?” the guard asked sceptically._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______Donna wasn’t sure what the better answer was, so she went with the most flexible one. “Just not feeling too well.”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______The guard looked at her sceptically. “Do you need anything?”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“No.”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Get going, then! Don’t push yourself too hard, you won’t be able to work if you overstrain yourself.” She sounded as if she was quoting someone. Donna nodded, put her cap back on, and hurried outside. The yard was looking noticeably clearer, but not by much. She slowly sat down next to Theodosius._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“I had to wait for you again!” he said jokingly. Donna did not reply. She was looking around to see if a guard was looking in their direction. The coast was clear, so she quickly took the cake out of her pocket and into Theodosius’. “Um, what’s that?”_ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“My husband’s present for my birthday. A cake. Well, part of it.” Donna picked up a saw, but stayed sitting. She felt too ill to move around._ _ _ _ _ _

__

______“Tell your husband I say ‘thank you’,” Theodosius said. Donna nodded. “Still, why’s he sending cake of all things? He needs it more than we do! We’re so much better off here than our families are.”___ _ _ _

__

________“How _is _your family?” Donna asked, seizing the chance to change the topic from the cake.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________Theodosius shrugged. “They’re alright, if you believe their letter. Cynthia finally found a job. The children miss me and can’t wait to visit.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________“Mine too,” Donna said with a sigh. “It’s not just us serving our sentence, you know. Our families’ lives will also revolve around the Supermax until the day we get released.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________“It’s got to be so hard for them,” said Theodosius, climbing to his knees and sawing at a thick branch. “Cynthia has six children to look after without me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________“We’re better off than them. Seems kind of ironic, but I’m not sure why.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________“Uh-huh. Are you alright? You look sick.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________“I am indeed sick,” Donna grumbled. “I ate most of the cake. That was a mistake. And then I ate breakfast. That was a bigger mistake.” She was still feeling utterly miserable.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________Theodosius laughed so hard he nearly lost his balance. “So, what’s it like not being hungry?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________“Not as fun as I thought.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________“Why did you even eat the entire thing?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________“Got carried away,” Donna groaned, pressing her face to the cold ground. Why _had _she been unable to stop, anyway? “It was too good, I couldn’t stop eating.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“Are you going to tell your husband that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________Donna lay down on the ground, curled up in a fetal position. “Maybe just that last part. Dem already thinks I don’t have any self-control when it comes to food. He probably cheered when he found out how we’re being fed here.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________Theodosius moved closer to her. “Then why did he send the cake?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“It’s not every day that a woman turns thirty-eight, you know.” Donna turned over to lie on her back, head on her palms, staring at the cloudy sky. Theodosius sat down next to her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“Oh, really? Happy birthday!” he said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“Actually, it’s still six days away, on March third. Dem decided to surprise me early.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“Happy early birthday, then!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________Donna rolled her eyes. “You can just congratulate me on my actual birthday, you know.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“I might forget.” Donna turned to look at Theodosius just in time to see him grin. She smiled, too._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“When’s your birthday?” she asked_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“January tenth. I’m, what, two months older than you?” He leaned back against the bush, counting. “A month and three weeks?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________January tenth? The trial had still been going on at that point. Donna tried to remember exact dates. Today was the twenty-sixth of February. She and Theodosius had arrived to the Supermax on the thirteenth. The sentencing had been on the first. Before that had been two horrible weeks of the judges deciding the sentences. The tenth, Donna realized, had been on the weekend just before the defendants had given their final statements. No wonder he had not mentioned it to her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“So you already had your second birthday behind bars, then. One during the preparations for the trial, and one at the very end.” Donna sat up, feeling slightly better, but did not pick up her saw._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________Theodosius nodded, fidgeting with his saw. “As birthdays go, they were pretty terrible. What about you? Last March third was...what? Us sitting in our cells, bored out of our skulls?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________Donna remembered that day well, one of the few days she could remember clearly from before the trial had started in May. "My lawyer wished me a happy birthday.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“That was nice of him."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“It was. Anyway,” she said. “First birthday in the Supermax. One down, twenty-four to go.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________An angry voice interrupted her thoughts. “Male Fifteen! Female Nine!” Both of them jumped to their feet, taking off their caps. Donna gulped queasily. The sudden motion made her feel about to throw up. “You’re not working!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“Sorry, guard,” Donna rushed to pacify the man from Eight. “We just sat down for a moment. We’ll go back to work now.” Could they be punished for refusing to work? Donna didn’t think so, but she didn’t want to risk it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________The guard looked guilty and abashed all of a sudden. “You do that,” he said, and stormed off. Donna and Theodosius looked at each other, confused, and picked up their saws. There was plenty of work to be done if the guards wanted to plant before October ended._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“Are you feeling better?” Theodosius asked, watching Donna saw energetically at a thick twig._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________Donna tossed the twig into the wheelbarrow that was behind them, and got to work on the next one. “A little bit. I might even be able to eat lunch without feeling like I’m dying.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________“I’m never going to let you live this down,” Theodosius said with a laugh. “Seriously? Why did you think eating an entire _cake_ was a good idea?”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna imagined Theodosius teasing her about the cake for the next twenty-five years. “Not a whole cake,” she rushed to clarify. “I gave you some. Plus there’s what the guard ate. I think Dem had to bribe her to make her risk passing on an entire package.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Theodosius laughed harder, sawing madly at a branch. “Even better.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Anyway, I have news for you,” Donna said, desperately trying to change the topic._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________That made Theodosius finally turn serious. “Do tell.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna explained the situation with Grass that morning at breakfast, and Theodosius raised his eyebrows higher and higher as Donna kept talking. “Well, that’s just an awkward situation all around. How did Grass react?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“‘Awkward’ is an understatement. And I left before she started ranting. Although she’s over there-” Donna gestured in Grass’ direction “-and not in total solitary, so it was probably nothing too intense.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Couldn’t have happened to a better person. Can you help me move this branch?” He pulled at the bush, but it did not move. Donna grabbed the branch with both hands, tugging weakly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________”You referring to the fight you had after Oldsmith called that witness who dumped half of your charges onto her?” The branch was extremely heavy. Had Theodosius sawed off the entire bush? She struggled to push it onto the wheelbarrow as Theodosius pulled it from the other side._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Are you seriously going to make me remember that?” Theodosius stepped away from the wheelbarrow, panting. Donna took deep breaths, feeling sick._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Revenge,” Donna said, grinning as she began to work on a large branch. “Do you remember how at the Victory Ball for the Seventy-Fourth, you and Grass argued right in front of Snow? I just remembered. I think she won that encounter.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Picking up his saw, Theodosius crouched down. “I’d rather not remember. Makes me feel sick, thinking about how I crawled in front of Snow.” He stared off into the distance, lost in his memories. “I remember when we first met, we were both crawling. Your husband wasn’t, though. I was so amazed. How could he stand with his head raised high in front of the President himself?” He furiously sawed at a branch. “Why were we such total idiots?” he asked the bush angrily. The bush did not answer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“I was so worried for Dem when we went to functions,” Donna confessed. “He carried himself in such a way, I was afraid someone would take offense, even though he was nothing but polite in his conversations. Now, when I think about it, he carried himself like a person among other people. It’s the rest of us who were obsequious with anyone who had any power over us.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Theodosius planted his saw in the ground. “I wish I was dead sometimes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna gulped, trying to find the right words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Not really,” he hurried to assuage her. “If I had actually wanted to die, there was an entire Tribunal eager to arrange it for me. It’s just that I look at what we were entangled in, what kind of regime we worked for-” He stared at his hands, rubbing fingers together as if he was trying to get dirt off._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“I understand,” Donna cut him off. “It’s like, all these horrible things, and we did nothing to stop them, to prevent them.” She sawed off a heavy branch and began to remove the smaller twigs. “I sit in my cell wishing I was at home, and then I remember those movies they showed us.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Theodosius pulled his saw out of the ground and resumed work. “And everyone I talk to, they call me a traitor, or a hypocrite! Don’t they understand?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna sawed at a branch, struggling to find words. “Yeah,” she said blandly. “I guess they’re just stuck in their old mentality. Easier to pretend you did nothing wrong than admit what you did. And safer.” Her own admittance of responsibility had been a mad gamble that could have easily backfired. Donna didn’t ask, but she was fairly sure that Theodosius also sometimes regretted not putting up a fiercer fight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________\------------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________By lunchtime, Donna was hungry enough to eat the soup, but put the small stack of crackers into her pocket without a single twinge of regret. Strolling into the yard and looking around for Theodosius, she transferred about half into Ledge’s pocket._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Are you trying to make yourself look better again?” he hissed quietly. “Nobody’s watching, you know.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“What?” Donna asked, confused. This was definitely an insult. She drew herself up to a more confident stance, waiting for a clearer argument she could defend herself against._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Oh, Mrs. Blues, you know exactly what I am talking about.” Ledge had always been small and stooped, but before, he had held himself in a way that made everyone feel like it was them who were the wrong size. In a prison uniform, he was just a middle-aged man. Not like Donna was any better, though. She struggled to put on an air of nonchalance that did not go well with the numbers painted on her knees._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“No,” she said coldly, “I do not know what you are talking about.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Ledge’s eyes narrowed. “Do you truly think you can gain respect by saying one thing to one person, a second to another, and a third - to a third? You act like you are better than the rest of us, but deep down, you want to be out of here as much as anyone else.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna felt relieved at the statement, as it was something she could argue against easily, but carefully showed no sign of it. “Of course I do not like it here, Mr. Ledge. I am hungry, my fingers are numb, and I haven’t seen my husband and children in months. But I recognize that this is necessary. Or do you truly believe that everything that happened under Snow was right?” There was a small crowd gathering around them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Who are you to teach me?” Ledge asked calmly. “You have no principles. You cheered loudest during the Games, and you would have kept on cheering if the Rebellion had not happened. You schemed for power every step of the way, heedless of consequences. You evaded comeuppance then just like you slipped the noose now. You blindly agreed with Snow, and now you blindly agree with Paylor. You have no opinions of your own at all, only what you believe will get you the most approval from those who have authority over you!” Everyone crowded around nodded along._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna decided to approach this from another angle. “All these words, to justify the murder of children?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Ledge looked her in the eye. “I was not the one responsible for the murder of children.” Donna felt like she had been punched. “And you were the one who brought up the topic,” continued Ledge, hammering the point further._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“At least I had the decency to take responsibility,” Donna fired back, knowing that their audience was firmly on Ledge’s side now. Although she hadn’t had a chance with them, it still hurt to lose initiative in the argument._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“Good for you,” Ledge said blandly. “Does it help you sleep better at night? I see no other way your so-called admittance could help you.” The crowd around them nodded again. Donna seethed internally._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________“I’ve never slept better,” she snapped. “Good day, Mr. Ledge.” Donna pushed through the cluster of people and headed towards the place where she and Theodosius had been working that morning. He wasn’t there yet, as he was doing his laundry today. Their saws were lying on the ground, and Donna picked hers up. She wondered if she should work on a big branch, or lop off twigs. Although she’d need to cut off the twigs anyway, to make it fit better in the wheelbarrow. Donna got to work on the small twigs, cutting them off with a sweep of the saw. Slowly, one of the branches began to look almost bald, with the twigs that stuck out of what seemed like every square centimetre removed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna wondered if Theodosius had liked the cake. Of course, it was foolish to think he wouldn’t, the man probably hadn’t eaten anything sweet since his arrest. She still worried, though. She didn’t want him to be disappointed. Although, could someone ever be disappointed with cake? But what if it had gotten crushed while in his pocket? Or what if a guard found it? What would the consequences be for that?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________For the while, Donna worried that the cake had been discovered. She felt jumpy and anxious, cringing every time a guard walked past. No matter how firmly she told herself that this was irrational, Donna’s brain persisted in creating horrible scenarios. She sawed at a forked branch which provided a convenient place to put the saw. Donna had no idea how much time it would take for Theodosius to finish with his laundry. There were no clocks, no watches for the prisoners._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Saw. Toss. Saw. Toss. Donna seethed at Ledge’s insults. What right did he have to judge her? He had been just as involved in the Games as her, controlling the financial side of things. And how could he dare chide her for being power-hungry? He had been the one trying to wrest power from the Minister of Economics for over a decade. And why did everyone look down on her and Theodosius for accepting responsibility, anyway? They acted as if this had been her plan all along, instead of a last-minute decision she was still unsure about!_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________\---------------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Before the trial, Donna had wanted to simply deny everything, despite a growing feeling that taking responsibility would be the only thing to do. After all, it was going to be a show trial anyway, just like the trial Snow was getting, it’s not like there was any better approach. After Snow’s execution, she became convinced that the trial would never happen. First there was Coin’s death, then the revelation that the Rebellion had wanted to hold a final Games using children from the Capitol, and then finally, it turned out that those bombs had been dropped by the Rebellion. Donna was torn between being elated that there was no way a trial could happen now, and being terrified that she’d just get summarily executed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________And then Paylor got elected, accompanied by a change in the government of Thirteen. Suddenly, Thirteen’s skeletons were being dragged out of closets and sent dancing through the streets amidst impassioned speeches demanding a fair trial for the so-called Games Criminals. The Mockingjay was quickly found legally insane and sent off to live her life in peace, but Donna’s problems were just beginning. She nearly had a breakdown when she read the indictment, realizing that she was dead. At this point, Donna was already half-considering admitting guilt, but it would take months until she finally decided to do it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________Donna pled not guilty to all the charges brought against her, just like the rest of the twenty-four men and women. Her lawyer, who had chosen her over Thread as client, came up with a strategy with her. Explain that she had known nothing about the conditions the District people lived in. Insist that she had started out believing she was working on civil projects, not Games ones, and that she had accepted the promotion out of a misplaced sense of duty. Admit that the regime was criminal, but not that she had been involved with any of the crimes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

________________The first part worked well enough when it was time for her case to be examined. The third got her some suspicious looks from her co-defendants, but she was far from the only one to admit something like that. The second, however, got her mercilessly cross-examined by the prosecution. Her arguments were torn to shreds before she could state them. Anything she tried to say, there was a document to disprove. In desperation, she decided to go the other way, against Dr. Fisher’s advice. Coll often said at meals that he meant to take responsibility, and Donna was leaning more and more towards that option as well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_To what extent were you involved in the planning of the Hunger Games before your appointment as Head Engineer?_

__

_I wasn’t involved in the planning, only the execution. However, I am still in some way responsible for all of the deaths of the Tributes in the arenas I worked on, the same way that I bear partial responsibility for any crimes that may have been committed by those under my command._

__

____________________For the next few hours, Donna was grilled on the extent of said responsibility, but there was no reaction. It was at lunch that she realized that she was now a symbol. Others had said they were responsible for certain things, but always with a touch of pride, as if referring to a job well done. Donna, however, had been the first to admit that she had done something terrible. Many of her co-defendants were furious that she had broken their united front that had already been fracturing...but Coll was thrilled. He shook her hand as they sat over bowls of soup, and insisted they be on a first-name basis. Theodosius was now waiting for his chance on the witness stand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________\------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________Donna watched Theodosius stroll over. She waved him closer, feeling relieved. The cake had not been discovered, everything was alright, and she could now complain about Ledge to someone who’d understand her. Donna handed over the rest of the crackers; Theodosius smiled gratefully before devouring them with quick, efficient movements._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________“How was laundry?” she asked as Theodosius picked up the saw._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________”Alright. Your husband’s cake was delicious, by the way.” He lowered his voice even though there was nobody in the radius of five metres at least._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________Donna smiled. “I’ll tell him that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________“Are you feeling better?” asked Theodosius, smirking slightly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________“Are you still going on about that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________“Of course!” he said, pointing a twig at her for emphasis. “I will always go on about it!” His eyes were shining with amusement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________Trying and failing to control the laugh bubbling out of her, Donna sawed off a medium-sized branch before answering. “I feel like there’s a crushing lump in my chest, and doing work makes me feel like crap. Otherwise, alright. I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up in the next five minutes like before.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________“Well, that’s good.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________There was a brief pause as the two tossed the branch Donna sawed off into the wheelbarrow. Then, Donna explained the argument she had with Ledge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

____________________Theodosius turned serious and then furious as he listened. “What a piece of work,” he said. “ _He’s _the one who slipped the noose, and he dares criticise you for something that isn’t even close to the worst he did?”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________Donna nodded furiously. “You remember the rumours about him and the Victors, right? I can’t believe they never prosecuted him for that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“Exactly. What I can’t believe is that the others agreed with him. I mean, really! Just because he can sound convincing doesn’t mean he’s right.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“Yeah, but it does mean that he’s more convincing.” Donna sawed at a branch, thinking of better arguments for the next time she saw Ledge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________\----------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________After dinner(stew and tea), Donna was taken to shower. She was eager to finally feel clean after weeks of washing out of the sink, and to get the grime out of her hands. In a little room the size of a closet with benches along one wall and fifteen taps - on another, the women labelled One through Fifteen undressed as a guard from Three sat on a stool in a corner, reading a book. The guard was alone, but Donna knew that if she felt threatened, she’d call for help with her communicuff. There were fifteen towels lying on the benches, one for each of them. At least they’d get towels._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________Several of the others looked uncomfortable at showering in front of others, but the ex-Peacekeepers were completely unfazed, and so was Donna. Fifteen women approximately her age were nothing after what had seemed like all the interns from every hospital in the Capitol being brought to observe the “really weird” complications that had arisen when she was giving birth to Laelia. Donna turned on the tap, which was shoulder-high for her, and jumped back in shock. The water was freezing. The ex-Peacekeepers, of course, were used to this from their training. They were muttering about how the taps were too low. Trotman, who had to be at least a metre eighty-five, had to practically squat to wash her hair._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________The water became warm less than a minute later. Donna stepped under the tap and began to scrub herself with her hands, and swore. The water was too hot how. Irritated, she stepped off the grate and readjusted the tap. There, that was better. The water was now nice and warm, and she didn’t want to ever leave. How much time would they have? Probably not much. Donna rinsed out her hair as the ex-Peacekeepers finished washing practically in unison. Of course they were used to these sorts of things from their training, even if it had been twenty or even fifty years ago._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________Carefully, trying not to slip on the cold floor, Donna walked over to the bench. Would the administration let Dem send her flip-flops? Hopefully they’d be allowed to receive packages at some point, after all, even the politicals who had been held here before had been allowed to get packages. Donna quickly dried off and got dressed, as the guard in the corner was glaring at them impatiently and looking at her watch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“Two minutes!” she said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________Donna pulled on her shoes as another prisoner, Cordelia Kim or Female Fourteen to the guards, leaned over to her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“Do you have any pads I could use?” she asked quietly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“Um, not really? But can’t you ask the warden?” They were supposed to be supplied with stuff like that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“That’s the thing,” said the prisoner, pulling on her shirt. “They’re really low quality. I was hoping you had a stash from before.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________“Sorry, but I’ll need them myself in a few days. Unless I lose even more weight,” Donna joked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________The guard had overheard and was unimpressed. “Low quality? They’re the same that we get. And what the women from Administration use, in fact.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________Kim shrugged timidly. “Well, they feel like sandpaper.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________The guard seemed even less impressed now. She promised to let Kim complain to the wardens, and ushered everyone back to their cells._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________\---------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________Donna finished reading her book on ventilation. While that hadn’t exactly been her speciality, ventilation was important to consider when building tunnels and other underground constructions, so she knew she had to keep up with any new developments. She listened for the sound of boots in the hallway. Nothing. Donna took a fresh roll of toilet paper, and removed the paper wrapping. The paper was thin, but it was fully white on one side and mostly white - on the other, so it would do perfectly for her notes. Tearing off a piece, she grabbed her book of number puzzles and positioned it such that the guards would think she was working on a puzzle, when she was actually writing the note._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________After writing down the date, Donna paused, thinking of what to write first. She thanked Dem for the cake, as that had been the most important thing of the day. Next, she described her argument with Ledge, adding a few other thoughts on the subject. She finished it up with worrying about the quality of the pads provided. While it wouldn’t be a catastrophe, as Donna would be able to wash herself as necessary with water from the sink, pads that felt like sandpaper were not something she was eager to experience._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

______________________That was it for today’s note. Donna listened for guards. Hearing nothing, she folded it up and hid it in her sock. By the time boots stomped down the hall, she was working on a number puzzle in truth. After finishing several puzzles, she took off her shoes and jacket, and climbed under the blankets, trying to warm up. She was still pleasantly full from the cake, but her hands were freezing. Maybe she should ask for gloves. That would help. Donna lay in bed for a while before falling asleep to the sound of boots hitting the hallway floor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__


	5. Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three visits.

Donna tried not to look visibly anxious as she approached the visiting room, heart madly hammering away. She tried to pat down her just-cut hair, but it was so short, it stood upright and made her look like a hedgehog. Mom had been so upset when she had seen Donna with short hair for the first time. It was foolish to worry over something like this, but worry she did. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. This was the first time someone was visiting Donna since before the sentencing, the first time her mother was seeing her since that horrible day months ago.

“Now remember,” began one of the guards leading her, a man from Twelve. “Speak clearly so we can hear you, and no gestures!” He was repeating himself for the third time already. Donna nodded.

The door was opened, and Donna was led in. On the other side of the glass was her mother, looking thoroughly miserable. Donna’s heart clenched painfully. She sat down, looking at the guards taking their seats next to her, at the guards on the other side of the glass, at her grimy hands, at anything but her mother. Neither of them spoke for a while. Donna felt a deep shame and awkwardness, but she wasn’t sure what for. The presence of guards watching to make sure nothing forbidden was said or done grated and humiliated.

“How are the children?” she eventually asked, raising her voice so that the guards on the other side could hear clearly. The glass panel had large holes at the top, but it was still hard to speak through it. Donna did not mention Dem, not wanting to rehash the same old argument in front of the guards.

“They are fine,” said Mom. There was an awkward pause. “Little Donna is struggling at school, though.”

“What’s wrong?” Donna wondered if she should send a message to her daughter. Maybe she could say something that would help.

“I am not sure. Her marks are down, but her behaviour is unchanged.” She looked so tired, sitting there, shoulders slumping. Once, she had always been perfectly poised, but that was before she and Dad had been forced to take in Dem and the children. Before Donna’s house and bank accounts had all been confiscated, although the house had been destroyed in a pod explosion anyway, so the government was welcome to it. 

Donna struggled to think of a topic. “How is Dad?” she eventually asked.

“All better now, thanks to Alex.” Her brother, previously always the wastrel, had unexpectedly moved back in to take care of Dad when his health had taken a turn for the worse. “Your husband, though-”

Not this again. Same words for fifteen years, and now in front of the guards! “Come on, Mom! Dem is working practically round the clock!” There was an awkward pause. Mom looked indignant, but said nothing. “Anyway, how’s Alex?”

“He moved to Twelve just last week, claiming he needed a change in setting.” Mom sounded disapproving of the reason. The guard from Twelve looked vaguely interested.

“And how’s he doing?”

“Alex is busy with work and content.”

Another awkward pause. Donna stared at her clenched hands, stared at the clock, stared at the guards. Mom also glanced at the guards, face unreadable.

Mom continued, “And how are you?” She was looking at Donna as if confused by what she had created, but her voice was soft and sympathetic.

“Good.”

“Are you...comfortable?” 

Donna sighed in exasperation. “Perfectly comfortable. I’m living better than you are, in fact. Can we _please_ not talk about me? What’s Dad up to? Is he still sick? Does he...I don’t know, want to tell me something?”

“Your father’s health is better, but he had to retire.”

“Well, at least he’s feeling better,” Donna said, feeling strained. Retired? That meant the eight of them were now living on his pension and whatever wage Dem managed to earn! In his last letter, he had vaguely mentioned a possible promotion, but for now, he was still washing dishes twelve hours a day, six days a week. Apparently his boss liked that nothing could faze him. Donna was certain that after their children, nothing could be more chaotic.

“He is indeed feeling better, and sends his greetings. Are you sure you are doing fine?” She looked concerned. Once, Donna had been afraid to tell her about a test she had done poorly on, knowing that she and Dad would have suffocated her with their disappointment. Now, they were sympathetic, probably because they knew that nothing they did would change the situation, and that sympathy was more humiliating than any scolding.

When was this visit going to be over already? “I am sure that I’m doing fine,” Donna said, a bit too harshly. She paused. “Tell Dad that I say hi,” she added in a softer tone.

“I will.”

The last time Donna had seen her mother, she had told her that she knew she was going to die. But that had not happened. Instead, they were all now enduring twenty-five years. Donna looked into her mother’s eyes, who looked like she was going to start crying. Donna felt like a teenager again, willing to apologize for anything if it meant Mom and Dad would stop looking at her with that disappointed gaze.

Mom stood up. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said, sounding as if she was choking back tears. She got up from her chair and walked out of the room without even a goodbye. Donna leapt up, pressing her hands to the panel.

“Mom? Are you alright?” she called out, but there was no answer. Donna sank back into her chair, feeling utterly wretched.

“The visit is over,” said the guard from Twelve. 

\------------------

Donna practically ran into the room, breaking into a grin as soon as she saw Dem on the other side of the glass. She fell onto the uncomfortable metal chair and leaned forward until their faces were just centimetres apart. The room was windowless and the lightbulbs dim, but when Dem smiled back at her, it suddenly seemed brightly lit. His eyes were sparkling with joy as he met her gaze, and Donna’s grin spread until it was almost painful. The guards watching to make sure nothing forbidden was said or done also seemed to disappear.

“Sorry I don’t have cookies,” Dem said quietly.

“Speak louder so we can hear you!” commanded a guard next to Donna, a man from Twelve. Donna sighed. Would they be able to have a normal conversation?

Dem, for one, was undeterred. It took more than that to fluster him. “This is just reminding me of when we first hung out in the library,” he said, smiling softly. “You were sitting in the study booth, and pressed your face to the window when you saw me arrive. Just like now.” He leaned even closer, face almost touching the glass. Dem’s eyes were comically wide.

Donna smiled, remembering the day. “Except that my hair was longer back then.” She self-consciously touched her short-cropped hair.

“And you don’t have snack cake wrappers and empty instant noodle bowls scattered everywhere.” Really, did he have to say that in front of the guards?

“And _you_ aren’t going to start chiding me about not eating properly. At least I hope so,” she added with a laugh. He had always told her that she couldn’t live off prepackaged food forever, especially when working on location, but she had managed to do it.

Dem turned serious. “Honestly, I wouldn’t dare. You look way too skinny.”

The guard from Twelve cut in. “No talking about the food! Female Nine is in perfect health.”

“Um, thank you for reassuring me?” Dem said awkwardly. Donna understood his concern. Her shirt had once been too tight but was now too loose, together with the sweater she wasn’t wearing now. While getting her hair cut that morning Donna had noticed in the mirror that her face was visibly more angular than the time Dem had last seen her. However, she was apparently still within the skinny side of healthy, and thus continued to receive rations that made her irate with hunger. Some of the others were even sunken-cheeked and experiencing amenorrhea, and administration was slowly agreeing to feed them more. Although there were constant rumours that rationing was disappearing across Panem, which made everyone feel like the end of this enforced diet was just around the corner.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Dem, startling Donna out of her thoughts.

“Something forbidden,” Donna said vaguely, unwilling to draw the ire of the guards.

Dem winked playfully.

“That’s not what I meant,” Donna said, trying to bite back a giggle. “Anyway, what are you up to?”

“You won’t be able to guess what happened,” Dem said, suddenly almost bouncing in his chair. The guards leaned forward in anticipation, waiting to strike down a line of conversation as forbidden. If pushed far enough, they would cut the visit short.

“Let me try,” Donna said, playing along and preparing to rattle off a list of impossible things. “Snow has risen from the dead?”

“No talking about the old government!” interjected a guard, a woman from Two.

“We’re all going to be released tomorrow?”

“Female Nine, I am warning you for the last time-”

“My parents have announced their approval of our marriage?” At that, the guards stifled a laugh.

“Yes,” said Dem, grinning widely.

Well, that was a surprise.

“But Mom complained about you during her visit!” Donna said, shocked.

Dem smiled playfully. “Oh, they’ve been coming around. It’s only been, what, two years since we had to move in with them?” he said sarcastically. “Took them a while, but they’ve grown to appreciate my cooking, which, according to your father last week, is ‘utterly amazing’. Or maybe it’s my amazing parenting skills.” He stretched out in the chair, as if basking in praise. Dem’s parenting skills, or their alleged lack thereof, had been a constant cause of fights between Donna and her parents since Donna’s first day as a mother.

“Well, it had to happen eventually,” Donna said, laying her hands on the barrier. Her husband put his hands over hers. Donna could almost feel their warmth. “So, how are the children? Are they getting along with my parents?”

Eyes widening in mock exasperation, Dem sat back up in his chair. “Well, there’s plenty of stuff we couldn’t squeeze into the letters,” he began. “All the kids have grown like on yeast since the last time you saw them. Little Donna’s as tall as you now.”

“No way.” But her eldest was going to be thirteen soon, and Dem had also grown very early. “You’ll have to send me photos.” They were now allowed to have photographs of family members only; the photo of the bridge had been confiscated.

“Of course! Now, Lars has finally stopped fighting with your parents, which is a relief.” Their oldest son, just nine years old, had firmly taken Dem’s side in the conflict with Donna’s parents. “He’s also grown a lot, and looks more like you than me.” Dem smiled.

“I doubt that,” Donna said. “He still has your eyes and skin and hair.” Lars was the only one of their children to inherit Dem’s round eyes, and since he also had Dem’s dark skin and curly hair, he had always looked like a tiny version of his father.

“Well, yes, but the shape of his face is pure you.” Dem waved a hand energetically. “You’ll see in the photo, he’s got more of you that me. At least externally. Your father doesn’t tire of pointing out every single one of my personality flaws that Lars has picked up.”

Donna snorted. “Now _that’s_ more like Dad.” Dem laughed as well, and for a moment, it was just the two of them laughing together about something crazy one of their children had done.

For the rest of the visit, Donna listened to Dem talk about their children with a heavy heart. It would be four months until little Donna visited, and who knew how long until she would be able to see the rest of her children. When the guard announced the visit was over, Donna felt miserable and relieved at the same time, and she could see that Dem was feeling the exact same thing. 

\------------------------------------

Her brother looked the same way he always had, despite Donna knowing he had changed. The last time she had seen him had been months before her arrest, but Alex looked like none of the things that had happened had affected him at all. He still looked rakish, purposefully unkempt, and disdainful of anyone who tried to tell him what to do. Even now, he stared at the guards with an insolent smirk.

“You know,” he began, “Mom and Dad probably expected us to end up in this position at some point. But with the roles reversed.” The guards were listening carefully, taking note of interesting tidbits they could leak to the press. Despite endless attempts by the administration to stem the tide and catch the couriers, information dripped back and forth through the walls of the Supermax.

“Oh, so you’re a disappointment even at being disappointing?”

Alex’s mouth fell open in shock. “Oh, you want to get sarcastic with me, huh? Wow, you _are_ trying to take my place.” His voice was oddly caustic and biting.

The guards’ faces were carefully blank as Donna tried to snap off another retort. “Yeah, well, Mom and Dad are so used to having an embarrassing child, I had to pick up the slack after you went all respectable,” she spat, trying to hide her mortification.

Alex’s face turned deadly serious. “Nuh-uh,” he said menacingly. “ _I_ was the one picking up the slack while you sat in a cell and made your bed neatly. _I_ was the one who watched over Dad when he fell ill. For months. Alone. Because you and your stupid ambition were too busy coming up with defense strategies!” He was speaking quietly, but every word was loud and clear. “I _told_ you, it was too much too fast, even if you stuck it out it wouldn’t get you anywhere good, and now look where you are!” He waved a hand at the guards. “Who’s the disappointment now?”

Donna dropped her head in her hands, trying to not show that tears were pricking at her eyes. The worst thing was, he was right, and Donna hated it. Why was it that Donna had always been right and he wrong when it came to minor wrongdoings that constantly got Alex in trouble as a teen, but now that things were serious, he had the moral high ground? Donna had no idea what to say in her defense, so she sat in silence. The guards looked ready to dash off and report the conversation verbatim to the first journalist they saw.

When had Alex grown so much? Once, it had looked like he would be fourteen at forty, but here he was, forty years old and a respectable man with a stable life. Well, Donna’s life was also stable, but that was the best that could be said about it.

“Did you come here just to insult me?” she asked, echoing the words he had tossed at her many times before.

Alex seemed abashed. “No. This is not how-” He paused, struggling for words. “I do not resent you. I do not hate you. It’s just that-”

“My sentence is just,” Donna said mechanically. Unfortunately, the guards did not cut in. When was this visit going to end already?

“Yeah,” said Alex, wiping at his face with a sleeve. “I just don’t know how to react. I had two years to think about it, and I still can’t grasp it. I mean, how am I supposed to react?” Donna realized he was crying. “I mean, I live in Twelve now, and to see it every day-”

A guard, a woman from Four, cut him off. Forbidden topic. Alex fell silent for a while, as did Donna. During the trial, they had been shown a film about Twelve, collated from bits of footage taken by a Peacekeeper who had served there for fifteen years and survived the firebombing. The scenes of misery(including a photograph of the Mockingjay as a starving eleven-year-old child trying to sell some rags at the black market) had been haunting. The shaky footage of the firebombing taken as the Peacekeeper, who had been warned by Thread to run if the power cut off, watched from beyond the fence had been almost worse. And then the video he took days later, of the still-burning fires, devastation and burned and intact bodies everywhere, was enough to haunt almost anyone’s nightmares.

“I’m sorry,” Alex eventually said, trying to hold back sobs. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry!” Donna snapped impulsively, and immediately regretted it. The guards nearly fell off their chairs, thinking that she was implying at a forbidden topic. After all, one of the key criminals showing any hint of remorse made everyone sit up and pay attention. Unfortunately for the guards, Donna said nothing after that, and neither did Alex. What had that been about? Donna did feel sorry, but she wasn’t about to proclaim it to others. Not after the prosecution had demanded the death sentence.

Alex rested his chin in his hands. “Are you doing alright?” he asked softly after a long silence. “I know you’re not allowed to complain to outsiders, but is there anything you _can_ tell me?”

“I’m doing fine,” Donna said, trying to sound cheery. “Work is fun.” Alex looked highly sceptical, but Donna wasn’t even exaggerating. Now that the weather was nice, it _was_ enjoyable to work in the vegetable patches with Theodosius or cut down the last of the bushes right by the prison walls, under the gaze of the new patrolling guards who practically fell out of their guard towers in an attempt to sneak a peek at the prisoners. “The weather is good,” she shrugged, trying to explain herself. “Nobody’s demanding anything. We just work. It’s relaxing.” That last sentence was an exaggeration, but Donna wanted to reassure her brother that everything was fine. She specifically avoided mentioning the food, as that would just draw his attention to the fact that Donna was a good deal slimmer now than she had been the last time she saw him.

“Well, that’s good, then.” Alex’s eyes were slightly red. He looked at the clock and back to her. There was an awkward silence for several minutes.

“How are you doing?” Donna asked awkwardly.

Alex shrugged. “Fine.”

“How’s work? What are you doing now?”

“Building.”

Was he going to answer everything in monosyllables?

“Building what?” Donna asked, trying to hide her exasperation.

“Buildings.” 

“What kind of buildings?”

“Just...buildings.” Before Donna could demand a better explanation, Alex smiled softly, and elaborated. “Houses, mostly. They might send me to work on that factory soon. I’m a skilled labourer now, you know. A carpenter.”

“Good for you,” Donna said, smiling. Inside, she seethed. She could have also been building now. “I’m sure Mom and Dad are proud.”

Alex laughed. “You know, before all this, if Mom and Dad had been told that I would become a manual labourer, they would have died of shame. Now they’re proud.” He paused, searching for something to say. “How’s Dem? And your kids?”

“Dem is doing fine, as are the kids. Are you going to visit them?”

“I just came from Mom and Dad’s place. It seems...chaotic.”

Donna snorted. “What did you expect? Eight people in one house.”

“That’s true.” Alex nodded. “I live alone, so I’m used to quiet.”

“You haven’t met anyone yet?” Donna asked.

Alex shook his head. “No, and I don’t think I ever will. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s not something I want.”

That made sense to Donna. Alex had never had meaningful romantic relationships, but she had always chalked it up to his inability to take anything seriously. “But do you have anyone in your life at all? Friends, coworkers?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I got plenty of friends, don’t worry.” Alex waved his hand. “The only problem I have is Mom and Dad being disappointed with the lack of grandchildren.”

“I would have thought they’re experiencing an excess of grandchildren right now,” Donna said, laughing.

“Be as that may, they’re still on my head for not finding someone nice and settling down. I swear, at this rate I’ll marry my best friend and adopt the nearest orphan just to get them off my case.” That did sound like something Alex would do.

Donna laughed. “Well, when you do, tell me. Dem and the kids write their letter every Saturday afternoon, so get in touch with them. You do have a phone, right?”

“Course I do.”

“Well, just give them a call.”

Alex nodded. “Will do. Can’t let you get too isolated in here.” He paused. “You write to me too, alright? I want to stay in touch with you, you know. Just a paragraph twice a month would be enough.”

Donna felt bad for not having ever written something to her brother, but she had never known what to say. “If you want, I will write to you every month.” While she could only write one letter, she could always have paragraphs addressed to different people.

“That would be more than lovely. I should have known you’re always the overachiever. Even in writing letters to family.” Alex winked as he said the last part.

“Five minutes remaining!” said a guard.

They sat without talking. Every time Donna wanted to say something, she looked at Alex, and the words died in her mouth. She looked at the clock, at her brother, at the guards, trying to find something meaningful to say.

“Half a minute remaining!”

Alex stood up. “You take care of yourself, alright?” he said.

“You, too.” They stood less than half a metre apart, but the thin glass panel may as well have been infinitely thick, with how far away Alex seemed as he turned around with a final wave and smile, and left the room.


	6. Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A potato threatens to seriously ruin Donna's week; fortunately, some of the guards are very helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is a better way to write a conversation that's in sign language, feel free to tell me.

“Uh, Donna?” Theodosius looked up from the potato plants he had been weeding, holding a blade of grass in his hand.

“What is it?” she asked, sitting down in the dirt. It hurt her knees to squat for too long.

“What’s the sign for ‘potato’?” he asked. 

Donna desperately tried to remember what the sign was. “Uh, you make a fist, and you tap it twice with two fingers. Like this.” She demonstrated.

Theodosius nodded in relief. “Alright. That’s the most important one.”

“You think that West will want to talk about potatoes with you?” Donna asked, raising an eyebrow. West, who had been head of research at the Panem Steelworks, was deaf, and as soon as her imprisonment had become likely, all of the Supermax’s inmates had proceeded to learn sign language with an obsessive fervor. They were mostly taught by Mitman, the former Gamemaker assistant, who had learned it a while back so he could understand what his Avox granddaughter(only his interference had saved her life at all) was saying.

“What else is there to talk about?” asked Theodosius, continuing to pull out weeds. The two of them almost always weeded this potato patch, it was considered theirs.

Donna tore out a clump of grass, and tried to brush the dirt off the roots. “The bushes?”

“They’ll be gone before she gets here.” The last of the bushes were, indeed, in the process of being cut down.

“The food?” She tossed the grass into the bucket.

“I guess.” Theodosius signed that he was hungry, and Donna returned the same sign.

The sun was starting to feel warm on her skin, and Donna shoved her hands into the cool ground. They were permanently grimy now.

“I’m hungry,” Theodosius complained again, this time out loud, as all of them did almost every day.

“Me too,” Donna signed back. Theodosius grinned, and put down the spade so he could sign properly. After all, they did need to practice.

“You eat today potato?” he asked, hands slowly shaping signs.

What was that supposed to mean? Donna shrugged dramatically to show her confusion.

Theodosius looked frustrated, but he did not vocalize. If West asked for clarification, he would have to either figure out a way to explain himself, or write in the dirt and hope a guard didn’t notice. “You- you-” he waved his arms dramatically, mouth opened in a soundless snarl. “Potato? Eat?” He pointed at the plants, raising his eyebrows to express a question.

Was he asking if she wanted to eat the potatoes? Donna tried to respond, but realized she had no idea how to sign ‘want’. Theodosius looked at her with an exaggerated expression of bafflement. How was she supposed to sign that she wanted to eat the potatoes, but there weren’t any yet?

“Yes, can’t,” she signed. Theodosius opened his eyes wide in confusion, and shrugged.

“What was that even supposed to be?” he asked verbally, picking up his spade. 

Donna laughed, picking up her own spade. “West is going to suffer. She’s going to be surrounded by people with a vocabulary of a hundred words. One of which is ‘potato’.”

“You forgot all the legal terms,” Theodosius pointed out, trying to dig out a stubborn root. “Those have to count for at least half the signs we know.”

Pushing with all her might, Donna shoved her spade under the same root, trying to dislodge it. “Well, that’s actually useful,” she hissed under her breath, fighting with the root. “West will be thrilled when we understand what she’s saying when she complains about how her sentence is unjust.”

“We don’t even know what the sentence is yet!”

“I guarantee you that it will be unjust.” The two shared a laugh. Donna pulled out the root and tossed it into her bucket. The potato patch they were kneeling in was huge, but only the two of them were working in it, weeding slowly. Others were working in other garden beds, or walking around the path. Today, there was also a group cleaning the corridors inside the prison, but Donna and Theodosius never worked inside for some reason.

“Speaking of unjust,” Donna continued, “that thing with Smith was just nasty.”

Theodosius looked confused. “What thing?”

“Wait, nobody told you yet what happened? But our entire wing saw the fight!” Donna was shocked. 

Shrugging, Theodosius continued to pick at tiny weeds. “Well, I don’t. Was it this morning? You're the first woman I've talked to today.”

“Yeah, right before we were let out. A guard told Smith that her husband had divorced her.”

“Ouch,” said Theodosius. “Why?”

Donna shook the dirt off a clump of thin roots. “Fell in love with someone else, apparently. I bet he just didn’t want to be associated with her anymore. That’s not the thing, though. Her now ex-husband also kicked out their children.”

“That’s-that’s horrible!”

“Yeah. Smith demanded to be allowed to talk to her lawyer, because this is a civil proceeding, right? But it’s still forbidden. She said, look, my children are homeless, you have to let me do something. The guard asked how old the children are, Smith said - fourteen and sixteen. And then the guard said that they’re old enough to take care of themselves.”

Theodosius gasped in shock. “Seriously?”

“Yes. And then Smith punched the guard.”

Hands half-buried in the loose dirt, Theodosius paused. “She punched the guard? Why didn’t I hear about this?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, more guards turned up, locked her in her cell. It will be total solitary as soon as the directors sign off on it.” The directors were having their weekly meeting right now. “She’ll be there for the next month, and when let out, she’ll be cuffed permanently for who knows how long. It’s messed up. Remember when Renko had a meltdown after less than a day in there?” Renko had tried to stay in his cell once instead of going outside in a strong rainstorm. It had not ended well for him. The former Peacekeeper only took fourteen hours to crack and start screaming to be let out.

“Smith will go insane,” Theodosius stated grimly. “I mean, really! Total solitary is torture!”

Donna picked up the full bucket of weeds. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to tell me. I’m gonna go dump this.”

At the pile, Gnaeus Li effortlessly shook weeds out of his bucket, which he was holding at head-height. At forty-four, the former Death Squad member was one of the youngest and strongest prisoners, and was also the most recent arrival, having only been brought to the Supermax yesterday. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Blues,” he said awkwardly. They had never met before.

“Hello,” she answered, untangling a plant stem that was attached to her bucket handle. 

Li swung the bucket in his hands. “Do you know Hryb?”

“Why do you ask?” Donna said carefully. The correct answer could be different depending on why he was asking.

Fiddling with the bucket handle, Li took a while to answer. “Does he know me at all?” he asked nervously in a low voice.

“I’m sure he knows _of_ you,” Donna said, trying to figure out what was going on. “I’ve never heard him say anything bad about you.” That was the truth, but she had never heard Hryb mention Li at all.

“Well, that’s good,” Li said, visibly relieved. “I mean, since we’ve got so much in common, it would be nice if we could be friends.” Ah, so that’s what that was about. Li was the only member of the Death Squad who had escaped execution, and Hryb was the only full Gamemaker. This was probably just Li trying to find someone who would understand him. “It’s just that I sometimes...” he trailed off, unwilling to open up to her. Donna’s mind raced through all the possibilities in an instant, as if this was a high society gathering. What was he ‘sometimes’?

“If something’s wrong,” Donna said cautiously, “ask to see the psychologist.”

Li shook his head furiously, and Donna kicked herself for making a misstep. “No. That would mean that I accept their way of doing things. My sentence is unjust, and playing by their rules would legitimize it.” Donna tensed.

“Well, you’re still here, and you needn’t destroy yourself just to prove a point-” she began, but was cut off.

“We’ll be released soon enough. I know it.”

Donna sighed. All the notes she sent had proven fruitless. Nothing could convince Paylor to soften up. “I used to think that, too. But now, I doubt it.” Li looked taken aback by that.

“This is wrong! All wrong!” he said angrily, grabbing a clump from the pile and throwing it at the ground. Donna started at the unexpected show of anger. “How can they toss someone into total solitary just for being worried about her kids?” Donna had to pause at the sudden change of topic. Li also had Smith on his mind, apparently.

Donna realized that she was still holding the bucket of weeds. The pile was chest-high, and Donna had to throw handfuls of weeds to be able to reach the top. “I know, right?” she said, trying to get Li to calm down. “She _did_ punch a guard, but that’s completely beyond the pale.” 

Li nodded. “And for what? Being terrified for her kids? They’re the ones who will suffer!”

Donna shrugged. “Keep in mind, though, there’s no way she can help them. That’s, what, four letters she won’t be able to send? That’s it. Smith wouldn’t have been able to find them a new home from here no matter what she did.”

Li looked irritated. He held the empty bucket like a shield. “Still, total solitary is just wrong.”

“Yes,” Donna said. “But it’s not like anyone can do anything about it.”

“Ah, yes,” Li said with an undercurrent of anger. “Aren’t we just the experts at not doing anything about anything.” He held his bucket by the handle, swinging it back and forth.

Donna understood what he was getting at. “Well, too late to complain now. Good day, Mr. Li.”

“Good day, Mrs. Blues.” The two went back to their respective places of work, Donna still thinking about Smith. How terrible it must be for her, unable to help her children. At least Donna had Dem, who would never do such a thing.

There was a little pile of weeds next to Theodosius. He smiled gratefully as Donna approached, and threw them in the bucket. Donna squatted down next to him. After less than a minute, she shifted to kneeling, knees aching. Theodosius simply sat on the cold ground, uncaring of dirt stains. Donna flopped down next to him. Sometimes, it seemed like the only thing she had energy for was arguing. 

“What did he say?,” Theodosius asked, nodding in the direction of Li.

Donna pulled out a weed. “Complained about his sentence and Smith.”

“Yeah,” said Theodosius. “They went too far with her, that’s for sure.”

“Do you ever feel disappointed because you expected them to be better?” Donna asked awkwardly. Hesitating, she lifted her head to look Theodosius in the eye. He nodded, and Donna felt relieved.

“Not as often as I feared. It’s just that...” he paused, struggling for words. “They have to be better. They have to.” His voice was broken steel. “Otherwise, what’s the point of all this?” He waved his hand, indicating the prisoners and guards alike. 

“I understand,” Donna said. At least someone knew what she was feeling. 

They shuffled a metre over and continued to pull up weeds. There was one annoying plant with very deep roots that you had to dig out. Was it a dandelion? The leaves looked like it, but there were no flowers. Donna pulled at the leaves, and the root remained in the ground. She ran her hand over the soil, searching for the root. It was mostly buried, and Donna had to brush aside some of the dirt before she could actually see where to put her spade. She pushed it in, hearing the quiet crack of the root breaking. Not again. Now the plant would grow back, and she’d have to pull it out again. Although it often seemed like no matter how carefully you removed the weeds, they would grow back. 

“It’s not fair,” Donna said. “You can remove every scrap of a weed and it will be back, but you pull a carrot just one centimetre, and it’s gone.” The tops of a carrot were insanely difficult to tell from weeds at the beginning.

Theodosius nodded. “Potatoes are easier to deal with,” he said, not for the first time. With his hands, he brushed soil towards the plant, making it look like it was surrounded by a low cone. Donna looked up to the sunny sky, trying to estimate what time it was. Not even close to noon yet. Nine? Ten? She had no idea. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, then reconsidered and took off the shirt, tying it around her waist. It was a bit on the warm side, but not quite hot yet. In late June, mornings weren’t quite sweltering, but they were close. 

“You’re already overheating?” Theodosius asked. Donna nodded. “The guard will just tell you to put it back on.”

“But at least I can get a few minutes of relative coolness,” she replied, pressing down on the weeds in the bucket in order to make more room. Both of them were barefoot and had their trouser legs rolled up as high as they would go without obscuring the numbers. Donna’s feet and calves were slightly darker than the rest of her legs, Theodosius looked to be two completely different colours. He had managed to avoid sunburn completely by gradual exposure.

Indeed, a guard approached and snapped at Donna to put on her shirt. She obeyed, but kept it unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves. The shirt hung on her like a bag, and Theodosius didn’t look any better. They were all slowly losing weight, with no end of rationing in sight. Donna had often wondered if it was worth it to continue giving Ledge some of her bread, but since Theodosius was still keeping it up, Donna would have felt foolish if she quit.

She took her spade and dug out a stubborn root that was practically entwined with a potato plant. Lifting a spadeful of dirt, she saw a small, golden potato. 

“What is it?” asked Theodosius, leaning over.

Donna made sure to lower her voice. “A potato.”

“Wait, what?” Theodosius leaned down, scrabbling at the dirt. “Already? I thought they were a month away!”

“I guess it takes that long for them to grow?” Donna’s knowledge of growing food consisted only of what the guards had told them, and it wasn’t much. “Look at it, it’s tiny!” She dug it out with a hand, brushing off the dirt. Theodosius quickly filled in the hole as Donna cradled the little tuber in a palm. It couldn’t have been more than three centimetres in diameter, almost spherical and seemingly with no skin.

Theodosius studied the potato. “I always thought baby potatoes were a subspecies, or something. Not an undergrown normal potato.” He poked it with a finger, scrubbing at the thin coating of dirt with a nail. “You gonna eat it?” They were forbidden to eat the food they grew, but now that it was in her hands, Donna couldn’t resist the temptation. There was nothing she wanted to do more than devour the potato, but she felt weird eating something and giving none to Theodosius.

“Um, I can bite off half, and you can have the other half?” He shook his head.

“I’ll just dig up another one!” Theodosius said cheerfully.

Donna nodded, continuing to try to clean the potato. Saliva was flooding her mouth, making her impatient. And even if she got sick from the dirty potato, so what? The more weight she lost, the sooner she would get more food. Donna stuffed the potato in her mouth, crunching down. It kind of tasted like potato, but not really. Maybe this was why they were always cooked first. She swallowed, grimacing slightly at the taste of dirt.

“You are stealing state property!” shouted the voice of a child. Donna turned around, shocked, to see three guards, children who couldn’t have even been sixteen, one each from Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen. It was the girl from Eleven who had shouted. Donna leapt to her feet, taking off her cap. Theodosius followed, several seconds too late. “Female Nine, it is forbidden to eat the property of Panem without due permission!” the girl continued. The boy from Twelve was barely holding back a giggle, the girl from Thirteen was trying to look official. Two other guards were rushing over as Donna wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. The girl from Eleven was still going on. “You will be severely punished for this,” she said, nearly poking Donna with a finger, and for the first time, Donna noticed the coldness in her dark eyes. 

“Soldiers, what is happening?” asked one of the guards who had rushed over, a woman from Nine. 

“The officer on duty told us we could walk around the yard,” said the girl from Eleven. The other two nodded. “Female Nine was stealing food.”

The woman from Nine looked slightly sick. “Go back to your guard towers,” she said. “What if a director shows up?” The children looked solemn at that. They saluted and ran off; Donna saw them giggling about something. The other guard, a man from Eleven, was also running off to somewhere.

“Stealing food? You know that is forbidden.” The guard addressed Donna coldly. Donna was terrified. What were they going to do to her? Lock her up over a potato?

“I was just hungry,” she protested weakly. “I promise, I won’t do it again.” Donna stared at the cap in her hands, trying to avoid the strange facial expression of the guard. The guard’s communicuff beeped, and she glanced at it.

“It may be so,” she said, “but you’re still going to solitary for a week.”

Donna felt like she had been punched. A week? Theodosius was silent next to her.

The guard continued. “Move on, now.” Donna put on her cap and shoes as quickly as she could. She walked when the guard prodded her, feeling sick. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed, hammering away madly. It wasn’t that hot, but Donna had to wipe off her palms on her trousers. “Here’s the thing,” the guard said quietly. “That girl from Eleven? She was whipped once for stealing a peach.”

That didn’t make Donna feel any better. “Huh,” she said, unsure of what the right response was.

“Thirteen really shouldn’t send in children as guards,” the woman said sadly. “Children should be in school. And this is definitely not an environment for someone that young.” 

“That girl was from Eleven, though,” Donna pointed out.

“She’s an orphan and lives in Thirteen.” The guard looked at her communicuff, and tapped out a message. “I was once punished for stealing a handful of flour that had fallen on the floor,” the guard continued. Donna didn’t show her reaction. What must it be like for her to hear angry screaming directed at someone called Nine?

They kept on walking and entered the building. Donna wished with all her heart that something would happen to interrupt them, but it didn’t. Far too fast, they walked down the corridor and towards a set of stairs. 

There had been multiple basement floors before. The first one, the one Donna was being led to, had once been where the prisoners who were being kept in solitary lived and were executed. Now, the cells were considered fit only for several weeks of purposefully torturous stay, and the execution room was a storage space(according to rumours, coffins were being kept there). And the second basement floor, now thankfully sealed off, was even worse. Tiny cells in which one couldn’t even stand or lie down, torture rooms, and worse. Just thinking about it made Donna feel sick.

“There’s a pen under the mattress,” whispered the guard.

“Um, thank you?” Donna was shoved inside the cell before she could say anything else. 

The first thing she noticed was the darkness. There was a small window right up against the low ceiling, but no lightbulb. Even now, during the day, it seemed dim. The cell door shut with a clang, and she looked around. It was tiny, much smaller than hers. Donna estimated it to be maybe three metres by two. The only furniture was a cot with a single blanket, and a toilet that was thankfully out of sight for the guard. Donna walked up to the cot, reached under the mattress, and indeed, there was a pen! This wasn’t going to be as bad as she was afraid. She had a pen, she had toilet paper, now she could write. Carefully, making sure not to tear the thin paper, Donna scribbled her daily note. It was a bit early, but so what? Using her tiniest handwriting, she described the events of the morning.

Now what? She still had seven days in here. Donna lay down in bed and tried to sleep, but she just couldn’t. The more she worried about not being able to fall asleep the more awake she felt, until she sat up on the cot, taking deep breaths. What was she supposed to do? All she had were a pen and toilet paper. There was nothing she could write that she hadn’t written already. 

Lunch was brought. It was a tiny portion, meant for non-workers. Donna felt even worse.

She drifted through memory and dream. Donna replayed old conversations in her mind. She pictured her children, trying to think of what she would say to each of them. She remembered anything and everything. There were so many conversations that she was the only living witness of, Donna realized. And those were important conversations. Did that mean that historians decades from now wouldn’t be able to really understand what had gone on behind closed doors of the Snow regime? It seemed a shame. What would have been the point of it all if it ended up forgotten and nobody understood what actually happened? Although did all of it have any sort of point, anyway?

The more Donna thought, the more irritated she became that everything would be forgotten. It wasn’t just the important things, although there were plenty of those. The extent of the abuse of the Victors was already unknown, given that Snow had died without writing everything out in detail or even naming names, most of the Victors were dead, and the abusers were definitely not ever going to talk. But it was also the little things. Nobody besides Donna now remembered the speech Snow had made to her and a small group of high-ranking Games functionaries, the rest now executed or dead by their own hands, and after she died, the world would never know that Snow had admitted out loud back in 72 that Twelve was unnecessary and indeed dying out on its own, and could be removed at any moment with no inconvenience. 

Out of curiosity, Donna tried to write out the speech as well as she remembered it. She normally had an excellent memory for words, but wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get it down word for word. To her own surprise, she just kept on writing, and writing, and writing. As she wrote down one word, she remembered the next, and she just kept on going and going until she got to the very end.

Donna felt much better now. Reaching for another piece of toilet paper, she began to write down from memory another speech, given by another person. Maybe she could write down all the speeches she heard. Maybe she could even write about everything that happened to her as Head Engineer; after all, there wasn’t anyone else who knew as much as she did about it. The more Donna thought, the more it seemed like a good idea. The tiny cell wasn’t confining anymore. Donna continued to write, fearing only the ink in the pen running out, and the sound of footsteps in the corridor.

\---------------

It was so easy to sleep in the darkness, without the ever-burning lightbulb. Donna slept, and slept, and slept. She lay on the cot, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, between thought and memory. And when there was enough light, she wrote. 

She wrote about her first assignment on location, how she had brought boxes of instant noodles and prepackaged snacks for the workers. The following year, one of the few returning workers from Six had thanked her for the noodles, but mentioned that they took a very long time to soften and remained tough and tasteless. Did Capitolites truly eat such food? he had asked. It seemed like nothing he had ever seen on a television. Donna had explained that yes, there were plenty of poor people in the Capitol, and they ate low-quality food. She only realized later that the man had used cold water to make the noodles, as the only water he had access to was from an outdoor tap, and he had thrown out the packet of spices thinking it was dessicant.

That worker was shot while attempting to escape several weeks later, when Donna was already back in her office. She wondered what his name had been and what had happened to his family. Probably nothing good. She doubted they were still alive. But how many of her workers were still alive, anyway? A handful had testified during her case, but Donna had no idea if there were actually so few remaining, or if the majority had simply not wanted or been unable to show up.

So many things to write about. Squeezing in word after word onto the piece of toilet paper, Donna tried to figure out what really had happened when Prast, who had preceded her in the position of Head Engineer, had fallen ill. She hadn’t even noticed the scheming, too busy with her own work, and her promotion had come as a complete surprise. But what had happened to Prast? It’s like his name was simply not spoken after a certain point. The last mention of him had been two days before her promotion. All of the engineers who had Snow’s favour, including her, had been meeting with Crane, the Head Gamemaker of the time. Crane had implied that Prast needed a permanent replacement, and said that any appointments would come through Snow. That had resulted in mad jockeying for position Donna had tried to stay out of, as she was flooded with work at the time.

Had Prast actually just died of his unknown disease? The very fact that it was unknown made that seem unlikely. Or maybe it was something hereditary, something he didn’t want people to think his children could have? Still unlikely. Prast had been old, old enough for disease to not seem suspicious outright. If his children had inherited it, odds were they would also be old when symptoms started showing up, so it wouldn’t be a tool in intrigue. And after all, knowing you’ll probably suffer from Alzheimer’s in your eighties is very different than knowing you’d suffer from it in your fifties.

The more Donna thought, the more it seemed to her that the reason the disease was unknown was because it was something people didn’t die from, so his death would have to be labelled as suspicious if it was officially listed as cause of death. After all, certain niceties had to be observed under Snow. However, with an unknown disease, the rumour could be spread that Prast had wanted to maintain privacy as he died from pancreatic cancer or something equally lethal. That would raise eyebrows, but nobody would be foolish enough to say it was suspicious or ask to see the death certificate. For all Donna knew, Prast could have broken a wrist falling, and then died of complications that one enemy or another had helped him acquire.

\----------------

Donna huddled on the cot, curled up under the blanket and sitting with her back against the wall. She was trying to write about the construction of the Arenas, but her thoughts were with the District labourers. Had she been responsible for their treatment? After all, as Head Engineer, she had been in charge of everything relating to the construction of the Arenas. But she had never authorized those abuses. Or had she? When she had demanded to the overseers and Peacekeepers that a certain stage of construction be finished in time no matter what, had that not been a carte-blanche for any means they could think of? But how could she have known that the District workers would be threatened with permanent unemployment for the littlest offense? How could she have known that the workers who had been shot while attempting to escape were in reality being killed for accidentally breaking something important?

Yes, she could have easily found out about all of it, _should_ have had done so in fact, but that wasn’t the same as actually knowing. Donna stared at the ceiling, and thought.


	7. Odd News

Donna woke up to the sound of rain hammering on the window. She looked out the window, squinting against the lightbulb. The few branches of a tree she could see from her window were clearly visible in the early dawn despite how overcast it was. No point in getting back to sleep, then. She curled up into a ball, jamming her hands between her thighs for warmth. Why did it always get colder when it rained? Getting soaked wouldn’t have been that bad if she didn’t have to also be cold. Donna listened to the rain as she rubbed at her eyes and sat up slightly against the wall. What were they going to do today? Glue envelopes again? At least the new library books would be arriving. She stretched out as much as she could, savouring the roominess of her cell after a week in total solitary. The cold air was almost pleasant for a few seconds, and then she had to hide under the blanket again, which had lost most of its warmth.

Well, it was time to get up, anyway. Donna reached under her cot, searching for her sweater. It was cold to the touch, but she knew it would warm her up eventually. Then, she put on her jacket, still feeling unpleasantly chilly. The rain was still hammering on the window, it sounded like a downpour. Hopefully it would stop or at least slow down before she had to go outside for the mandatory half-hour, as walking around in the rain always made her feel horrible for the rest of the day. Donna pulled on her shoes, not bothering to change her socks. They’d get soaked from walking around in this weather, anyway. She made her bed, grabbed a book from her table, and paced around the cell for a minute before sitting down to read. 

The words were slightly blurry, and she rubbed at her eyes. Strange, as she wasn’t tired. She rubbed at her eyes again. Maybe they were still messed up from a week of writing in the dark; everything had been blurry for the last two days. She brought the book closer to her face, which solved the problem. She sat up straighter when she heard footsteps in the corridor, but it was just a guard checking up on someone. Donna continued to read for a while longer, but stopped when her eyes felt too tired. Maybe she needed glasses. Or maybe she was just tired and needed to not squint at pages for a while. It was completely light outside, anyway, breakfast would be any second now. Indeed, there were the familiar footsteps, the rolling cart, and finally, the jangling of keys and the calling of prisoners.

“Female Nine!”

Donna stepped into the corridor, making her way towards breakfast. Only now that it was so close to her did she realize that she was painfully hungry. The warden was sitting in her chair and reading a magazine, but the covers had been painted over with black paint. “We’ve got international dignitaries visiting!” she was saying enthusiastically. “For the first time since the First Rebellion, you know.” She pointed the rolled-up magazine at Donna, who was picking up her tray, as if it was Donna’s fault personally that nobody had wanted to visit the McCollum and Snow regimes. 

“When?” asked Blatt as Donna devoured her breakfast. Instant oatmeal with dried fruits as well as weak tea, when the guards were able to eat fresh food from the yard. There were four standing in a line behind the warden, as if ready to stop anyone from running farther down the hall, where there was a locked door. The prisoners stood in a small crowd, eager for news.

The warden opened up her magazine again, holding it in such a way that the prisoners couldn’t peek inside. “Panem in general? They should be arriving today. Here specifically? In a few days at the earliest.” She didn’t look too happy, but then again, a visit from someone important meant that the guards would have to actually stand around looking impressive instead of playing chess and solving crosswords at their posts. And, of course, it would be a security nightmare.

“How is Smith?” asked Blatt. The ex-deputy head of Victors’ Affairs still had three weeks in total solitary left. The warden leaned forward, and the prisoners huddled closer even as they ate breakfast.

“ _Female Twenty_ is fine, for someone in total solitary. Keeps on singing, though.” One of the guards snorted.

“I always thought _Priorities_ was the shallowest thing ever,” she said. She was from Thirteen, but if she knew the song, she had to have been raised in the Capitol. “But with the pronouns flipped, it’s an entirely different story.”

The warden nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. Other than that, she’s maintaining control over herself, no sign of mental deterioration. Go on, now, you have half an hour to sweep.” Donna finished licking the tray clean, put it down, and went back to her cell, thinking. She knew the lyrics of _Priorities_ by heart, of course. It took her only a few listens to memorize a song. She paced around her cell, humming the song. It was catchy, and indeed, it was shallow and naive, as the guard had said. In the original, it was from the point of view of a woman who really didn’t like that her businessperson husband was dedicating so much time to work. But with the ‘you’ and ‘I’ switched, it seemed to become more serious, even though technically speaking, all it did was change the point of view. Donna hummed the chorus, liking it less and less as it went on.

_But all I value is my wallet,_   
_And you - bright and glorious days._   
_All I dream about is profit,_   
_But you despise my ways._

_When my income is dried up,_  
I will cease to amaze.  
You’re a right-thinking dreamer,  
While I am a disgrace. 

Donna sat down on her cot, fuming. When humming that last stanza, her gaze had drifted to the photo of Dem on her table, and now the image was stuck in her head, as well as the song.

_You’re a right-thinking dreamer, while I am a disgrace..._

Seething with anger, she got up and got a broom from the guard. It turned out to be Blatt’s favourite broom, which she didn’t let anyone else use. Donna got another one from the guard and swept the floor of her cell. She was always tracking in dirt from the yard. Today would be worse, with the rain turning the ground to mud. Donna swept the dirt and dust into the corridor, brushing it towards the centre as she tried not to hum the song. They made several piles of dust that way, collected them with dustpans, and dumped it into a bucket. The guards would throw it out somewhere.

Back in her cell, Donna grabbed her book of number puzzles and pen from her table, and tried to distract herself from the song. The worst thing was, Donna didn’t even feel that way, but the song was still stuck in her head and she couldn’t stop humming. She struggled to fill in a medium-difficulty sudoku, numbers blurring slightly, as the words danced through her mind.

_...while I am a disgrace..._

Well, she wasn’t going to argue with that, mostly because if she tried, it wouldn’t go well for her.

Being ordered outside was a relief, even though the rain was still going, though not as strongly as before. Talking to Theodosius was always better than sitting in her cell humming inane songs. Donna turned up her collar as much as she could and pulled her cap lower before stepping out into the rain to catch up with Theodosius, who was just a few steps ahead of her. The ground was muddy, but the rain wasn’t too bad. Her jacket was waterproof, but her trousers would definitely end up soaked.

“Guess who’s back?” she asked lightly, and added a ‘hello’ in sign language.

Theodosius looked stressed, but relaxed slightly when he saw her, and returned the sign. “Hey,” he said out loud. “I just got Cynthia’s letter.” The men got their letters on Mondays and the women - on Thursdays, because apparently there weren’t enough censors to have them all done for the same day. “I have news. Odd news.”

“Odd news?” Donna asked, trying to wedge the edges of her sleeves into her pockets so her hands wouldn’t get wet.

“Well, for me, it’s bad news. For you, it’s odd news.” 

“What is it?”

Theodosius sighed. “Cynthia lost her hearing. Our apartment is confiscated, as well as all of the bank accounts except the college fund we cannot touch for nine years yet, barring Primus skipping a grade or something like that.” The eldest of Theodosius’ children was nine. “And the hearing got publicity, which resulted in Cynthia getting fired.” Theodosius took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair, looking utterly dejected. “So that’s the bad news. The odd news is that Cynthia and the children have moved in with your Demetrius.”

Donna didn’t know how to react. “But that’s _fifteen_ people in my parents’ house! On one pension and one tiny wage!” This was going to end in catastrophe!

“No, no,” Theodosius rushed to reassure her. “I should have told you first. Cynthia already has another job lined up, she starts soon. And-” he paused for a second “-Demetrius probably wanted to tell you himself, but it will make you worry less if I tell you now. He got a promotion, though I don’t know to what and what’s his pay now.”

That was a huge relief. Donna smiled, thinking of Dem. He deserved that raise and more, she was sure of it. “Well, that’s good. Still, that’s not going to be enjoyable. Barring Cynthia getting a really well-paying job, there is no way your family will be able to move out before the kids are grown and employed. They must be so cramped in there!” Donna looked around the yard, wiping the cold rain from her face. At least she had plenty of room to stretch out in.

“They didn’t say anything about that. Hopefully, Demetrius will write to you about it.”

“Yeah.” Donna wiped rainwater from her neck, wondering how her children were coping with being so cramped. Donna must be at the end of her tether. She so valued her privacy.

“It could be worse,” Theodosius said suddenly as he leapt over a small puddle.

“How?”

“Netts could also move in with her children,” he joked.

Donna rolled her eyes. “Yes, and then the house would literally burst at the seams.” Theodosius giggled, and Donna laughed as well. Appuleia Netts, the widow of Snow’s deputy, had twelve children.

They walked in silence for half a minute, Donna trying to think of a way to bring up Smith.

“So,” Theodosius said before she could open her mouth, “how was total solitary? You don’t look the worse for wear.”

Donna’s feet were completely soaked, so only one thing came to mind. “Drier.”

Theodosius laughed as Donna explained about the secret pen. He turned pensive as she described her desire to record everything she was the only living witness to. “You know,” he said, “when I was arrested, one of the soldiers joked that maybe I should start writing my memoirs now.”

“Well, I wasn’t quite going that far,” said Donna. Write a memoir? But who cared about her life, which had been completely ordinary for the vast majority of its duration? “D’you think you might?”

“I don’t know. It would be nice, though, to set the record straight.” Donna nodded. She was thinking along the same lines.

“Maybe we could write something together,” she suggested half-seriously.

Theodosius seemed to be thinking seriously about the suggestion. “What, like we sit down together and write a book?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Anyway, I have news about Smith. Odd news.”

“Odd news, huh?” Theodosius paused to feel at the hem of his trousers. “Soaked through. Anyway, what’s the news?”

“She’s singing _Priorities_ , but with the ‘you’ and ‘I’ switched.” Theodosius furrowed his brow, confused about something. They finished another lap of the yard. It really wasn’t big enough for an interesting walk.

Theodosius’ face brightened. “Uh, that’s the one that’s like ‘All you value is your wallet, and I - something days’? But with the point of view flipped?” They walked in silence for a while as Theodosius contemplated the song. “That’s - kind of intense.”

Donna nodded grimly. “‘Intense‘ is an understatement. ‘When my income is dried up, I will cease to amaze. You’re a right-thinking dreamer, while I am a disgrace.’” She brushed her hand along a leaf of a potato plant, immediately regretting it when her fingertips turned wet from the rain. 

Theodosius nearly tripped. “That’s seriously the lyrics?” He stared at her in shock.

“Well, with the pronouns switched, but yes. I guess total solitary made Smith’s conscience act up?” Theodosius nearly tripped again as he laughed out loud.

“I wonder what the guards thought of that.”

“One said that the song becomes an entirely different story,” Donna said, trying to remember the exact phrasing. “‘You’re a right-thinking dreamer, while I am a disgrace.’ I bet they’re all laughing their heads off.” Theodosius cringed.

“I just thought of Cynthia,” he said, noticing her odd look. “She always did tell me to not get involved with government work.” Theodosius grimaced again, shaking his head.

“I understand,” said Donna.

“I know,” he said. 

They kept on walking as the rain continued to fall. Even under her waterproof jacket, Donna felt damp, to say nothing of the rest of her. Her feet were wet, and the bottoms of the trouser legs would need to be squeezed out. Her hair was also wet, and water trickled down her neck and under her jacket. 

“I need a shower,” Donna grumbled. “A warm one.”

“Same,” said Theodosius. Rain was streaming down his face. “Oh, good day, Mr. Townsend!” he said, nearly colliding with the man who had suddenly stopped. 

“What’s wrong?” Donna asked, seeing his face. The former deputy head of Victors' Affairs looked wrung out and terrified.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Townsend, licking his lips nervously. “What will they do with our bodies when we die?”

“I don’t know,” said Donna cautiously. He had to be asking for a reason. “Probably the same thing that they did to the people who got executed.” They had been incinerated and the ashes thrown away somewhere.

Townsend sagged. “I’ve been asking around. Nobody knows. I thought, there’s still a ten percent chance, right? That’s what the doctors said. Ten percent chance. Maybe I won’t die. But then I realized, I’ve got a life sentence. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He stared at them blankly for a while, and then his face suddenly crumpled. “It’s unfair. I have to die in here. No matter what. Do you think they’ll even bother treating me, or will they let me die now?”

“Well, you never know,” Donna said. She had mostly given up on her attempts to reach old acquaintances and get them to try to get her freed, but some others still hadn’t given up hope. “But believe me, they’ll do everything they can for you. They need us here alive, or there won’t be an excuse to have District garrisons here for the next fifty years.” She smiled her best kindly smile. “None of you lifers are dying until you’ve beaten the life expectancy.”

Townsend smiled sadly, and the rain streaming down his face made him look like he was crying. “That makes sense, I suppose. Do you think they’ll really keep us here forever? Hryb isn’t even thirty yet.”

“Who’s ever heard of actually keeping lifers in prison until they slowly die of old age?” Theodosius asked rhetorically. “From what I know, you’ll be sent home to die at the very worst.” Theodosius greatly exaggerated, but Donna wasn’t about to call him out on it.

“Exactly,” she said. “I bet the prison will be closed the moment the two of us are out of here. Even many of the Second Rebellion leaders don’t support this,” Donna said, waving a hand vaguely at the surroundings. Townsend looked almost happy at that. 

“Well, I suppose that’s something. Good day, Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll.” He marched off rapidly, and Donna could hear the squelching of his feet in the mud. Donna and Theodosius resumed walking at a more sedate pace.

“Did you know we’ll have international visitors in a few days?” she asked.

“Wait, what?” asked Renko from behind them. The man must have overheard. He ran a few steps, catching up to the two of them. “International visitors? Who told you?” he asked sceptically.

“A warden,” answered Donna. Renko ran off, probably to tell his Peacekeeper friends. Turning to Theodosius, she continued, “Apparently they’re already in Panem.”

Theodosius shook the rain from his sleeves. “And we’re on the list of places to visit? I guess they want to make sure that the old regime really _is_ locked away securely.”

“Not just that,” said Donna. “Imagine the guards pointing us out. ‘That’s a Peacekeeper general. That’s a minister.’ It’s unprecedented, really. Who’s ever heard of a government being put on trial, especially by a tribunal like that?”

“You think they’ll look at us like, what, a warning to their dictators? Paylor will be glad.” Theodosius rolled his eyes. “As long as they know what’s what, I’m not too concerned. I’m just worried they’ll end up with misconceptions. You know the rumours I mean, right? How half the newspapers think we’re living in borderline luxury, and the other half thinks we’re being practically tortured? They might have other ways of looking at things, and if an eyewitness says something, nobody will ever forget it.”

Donna knew what he was referring to, so she nodded. Some of the family members had written to the press claiming that the conditions in the Supermax were horrible and demanding the release of the prisoners. Donna herself had instructed Dem to not do so under any circumstances. It was a clumsy move that would never work. Instead, she had written to old colleagues and asked them to insist that her sentence had been too severe, citing mitigating circumstances.

Sudden cold seized Donna’s left foot, yanking her out of her thoughts. She swore as she stepped out of the puddle. Her shoe and sock felt soaked right through, and they were now dirty on top of it. “Seriously?” she asked the puddle. “Laundry’s in six days, and I’m gonna have to walk around in one dirty and one clean shoe until then!” She only had one pair of shoes.

“You could put your other foot in the puddle as well,” offered Theodosius. “At least it would be the same that way.”

Donna shook her head as she resumed walking. Nearly all of her right sock felt wet, but her left one was drenched. “I’d rather have some dryness left.”

“I’m already soaked to the bone,” Theodosius retorted. Water streamed down his sleeves and got into his pockets. Donna raised her arms, watching drops slide down. Her upper body felt unpleasantly damp, even though the jacket was supposed to be waterproof. After the walk, she’d need to change most of her clothing. Donna stuffed her hands in her pockets, feeling her left foot warm up slightly as she walked. Hopefully this wouldn’t give her a cold.

Only a few guards were outside, everyone who could was hiding from the rain. Donna could see the perimeter guards huddling in their towers, machine guns pointed at the prisoners. Several guards were pressed against the wall where there was some shelter from the rain, two stood under a tree. They had what looked like a coat strung through the branches above them, and looked relatively dry. Donna felt a stab of envy as she reached up to feel her hair; her hand came away wet. Her cap would need to be wrung out. When was this walk going to end already?

“I’m hungry,” Theodosius said. 

“Same,” said Donna. She didn’t want to think about being hungry. Sometimes she almost managed to forget. “How are your children?”

\--------------

As soon as she stepped inside her cell, Donna peeled herself out of her wet clothes. She washed herself in the sink and put on dry clothes, trying to avoid stepping on the wet spots on the floor. Due to not having another pair of shoes, Donna was walking around in just her socks, and the floor was unpleasantly cold. She continued to rub at her hair with her towel as she laid out the clothes on the radiator, which was basically just a hot-water pipe encased in a box of sheet metal to prevent its use as somewhere to hang a rope from. Donna had no idea how you were supposed to hang yourself from something less than waist-high, but there was probably a way.

Waiting to be told what to do, Donna sat against the radiator and wondered how she was going to go outside in the afternoon. Putting on the wet clothes again was going to be unbearable, but it was better than getting another set of clothes soaked - and in any case, she only had one pair of shoes, one sweater, and one jacket. Donna hated the rain. It was always so hard to stay warm and dry. 

She reached for her book on sign language intending to practice, and swore under her breath. The letters were blurry, not so much that she couldn’t make them out at all, but enough to make it hard to read. She pressed the button that would summon a guard. Several seconds later, the flap in the door opened.

“There’s something wrong with my eyes,” Donna complained. “I can’t read properly.”

“Can you work?” the guard asked.

“Well, yes-”

“You’ll get them checked in the afternoon,” said the guard. Afternoon? This meant there was a chance of missing the walk. Donna started to plan. Immediately after lunch, she’d ask if she could get her eyes checked now. If they told her to go outside, she’d insist, saying she had a headache or something.

A few minutes later, the prisoners were ordered to step out of their cells. Donna hesitantly put on her damp cap (which now felt slightly warm from the radiator) and listened as they were instructed. They would indeed be making envelopes, much to Donna’s irritation. It was pointless busywork, the envelopes would just be tossed in the recycling. But at least they’d get to talk to each other. The twenty women sat in a loose formation on the floor of the corridor, most of them on a stack of blankets. The men were probably doing the same in their wing of the prison. Donna picked up a sheet of paper from the stack at her feet, and began to fold it. Next to her, three of the former Peacekeepers began to squabble.

“You’re not folding it right,” whispered Katz to Trotman. 

“You’re the one folding it wrong,” retorted Song as she placed a finished envelope on the floor.

Katz glared at Song. “No, _you’re_ the one who got it all wrong!” Trotman smirked slightly.

Song didn’t bother to raise her eyes. “You weren’t even in the city then.” The sixty-one-year-old had worked in Command in the Capitol for her entire career, and hated it when the District-stationed former Peacekeepers criticized the Capitol-based units or Command in general. “And you, too, Ms. Trotman,” she said, noticing the other woman’s smirk.

“I didn’t need to be in the city to tell that the defense plans were completely inadequate-” Trotman began to retort, only to be cut off.

“And I don’t need to be from Two to tell that Peacekeepers do not question their superiors in such a manner.” Trotman had been far below Song in rank, and now she looked ready to explode. Usually, it was Trotman herself calling others ‘dishonourable’. Donna held back a giggle at the sight of Trotman’s surprised and furious facial expression. She would now probably spend nights lying awake, trying to think of a good counter-argument.

Katz, however, was undeterred. “As Head of Nine-”

“You were in a completely different situation,” snapped Song.

A guard from Seven finally spoke up. “Alright, enough conversation!” The bickering three fell silent, as well as the others whispering to each other. Donna resumed folding. Her suddenly worsened eyesight wasn’t a problem now, and she slowly made creases and folded the paper. Song, Katz, and Trotman silently sat next to each other. The Peacekeepers constantly argued, but they were also inseparable. They didn’t try to talk to Donna. On the issue of responsibility, they were convinced that they and the Peacekeepers as a whole had done nothing wrong, which grated at Donna. It was like they were willing to step on the same rake again and again.

Donna finished making an envelope, and laid it at her feet. Completely useless, all of it. She looked at the guards. They appeared to be more interested in their books than the prisoners.

“How are things?” she whispered to Kim. The former assistant Gamemaker was one of the prisoners closest to Donna in age, only four years older than herself.

Kim didn’t look up from her sheet of paper as she slowly made the folds. “Alright. I’m hungry, but then again, aren’t we all?”

“Cease conversation!” snapped the same guard who had interfered the first time. She must really be in a bad mood. Donna sat in silence, planning what to write in a letter. First, she’d ask how the kids were doing. They must be under so much stress with the arrival of Theodosius’ family, after all. Then, what would she ask? How her brother was faring? She had been asking that for weeks now, only to get the exact same answer in reply. Apparently, he was fine, and work was fine, and everything was fine, and really, Donna, how are _you_ doing?

What Donna really wanted to know was what was going on in the world at large, but politics was a forbidden topic and Dem never wrote about what she really wanted to know in his rare smuggled notes to her. He constantly mentioned things off-handedly without explaining them, and Donna struggled to put together a coherent picture of what was going on. During the trial, guards had often given them newspapers and magazines(and other guards had delighted in confiscating them; Donna had become quite skilled in hiding newspapers behind documents), but now, no guard had ever offered more than bits of news and gossip that were often impossible to distinguish from one another.

If international dignitaries were visiting, that was a sign that Panem would now have a chance at joining the international community, but Donna couldn’t even begin to guess at what the ramifications of that would be. All she knew about the rest of the world was that it existed and had not interfered with the McCollum and Snow regimes due to their fear of Panem’s nuclear arsenal. Donna had heard gossip about defectors, and indeed several had testified at the trial, but once again, knew little more besides the fact that they existed. One of the defectors whose testimony she had heard, a middle-aged woman from One who had managed to sneak out of the District and swim to South America, had focused mostly on the conditions in her hometown and not on her insane feat. The rest, too, had tended to focus on their reasons for leaving, and not on how they managed to do it.

There was a small pile of envelopes at Donna’s feet. Useless paper, really. It would just be thrown out. Donna picked up another sheet of paper. There wasn’t anything else she could do. The angry guard from Seven would probably just yell at them again if they tried to talk. Fold, fold, fold. What a waste of time.

\--------------------------

Donna stared miserably at her tray, insides writhing with hunger. The stew looked tasty, but the entire portion would probably fit in her hand. There was also no bread today for some reason. Donna had tried to find the pattern, but there didn’t appear to be one, other than the fact that they got crackers with soup and loaf bread with stew. The bread was always slightly stale and she gave half of hers to Ledge anyway, but it was something to chew on. They got bigger portions of stew on days when there was no bread, but not by much. There was also no pattern to the type of stew. Donna was fairly sure that it was some kind of Thirteen military rations.

She ate the stew slowly and carefully licked the tray clean. That was the advantage of not having bread. Donna always managed to drop a few crumbs on the table, and then it was really hard to find them all and pick them up. With stew, however, she just had to not rush when eating. 

The stew ended far too quickly. Donna felt ravenous even as she licked the last bits from the tray, and picked up the cup of tea. At least it was actually hot today. She sipped the tea slowly as she finished reading one of her books. The words weren’t as blurry as in the morning, but were they back to normal? Had she ruined her eyes by writing in the dark? Donna put the book on the table and sat on her cot, fuming. This was so not fair. First she had to sit in total solitary for a week with only writing to keep her sane, and then the writing messes up her vision? And all because of a stupid potato.

When the guards unlocked their cells so they could go outside, it was still raining. Donna decided to try to get out of it.

“Guard, I’m supposed to go to the infirmary for a checkup,” she mumbled, staring at the floor.

“Is it an emergency?” asked the guard. They were supposed to get weighed in a few days, anyway, and would be able to complain about their health then.

Donna nodded. “I can’t read anymore.”

The guard was taken aback. “Can’t- can’t read? Well, come along then,” she said, nodding. Donna was pleasantly surprised. Before, she would have had to pay serious money to get looked at that fast, but then again, the administration needed them healthy. Donna began to walk, but before she could take a step, the guard spoke up. “Hands where I can see them!” she barked. Donna unfolded her arms from her chest instantaneously. “And where’s your cap? Female Nine, why aren’t you wearing _shoes_?”

Donna picked up her cap from the radiator and put it on. It was still damp. “My shoes are wet,” she said, “and I don’t want to get another pair of socks wet by wearing them.”

“The floors are wet, too. You’ll lose another pair of socks either way,” the guard pointed out. Donna didn’t have the energy to figure out an answer, so she shrugged and stayed silent. The guard didn’t continue the argument, instead ushering her into the corridor. Some of the others looked at her with irritation, the rest were too busy complaining about the weather. Donna was led to the other end of the corridor and up the stairs, and then back towards the middle of the prison, where the infirmary was. It was empty at the moment, except for an orderly writing something on her clipboard. She looked up when Donna came in, and began to flip through the papers.

“Sit down,” she said, indicating to a chair. Donna sat. “When did your vision start to worsen?”

“I started having slightly blurry vision weeks ago, but it never stopped me from reading, so I didn’t even notice it. A few days ago, I realized that the opposite wall was a bit blurry. Then I returned to my cell, and realized I couldn’t read properly.”

“This was in total solitary?” Donna nodded. “Were you doing anything that was a strain on the eyes?”

“Um, I was in total solitary, so no,” Donna lied. Was the orderly seriously expecting she’d tell the truth in front of the guard? “It was dark in there, though.”

“And it didn’t go away yesterday or over the course of today?”

“Not really. It got a bit better.”

“Look at the chart, and tell me which part of the circle is broken, up, down, left, or right. Start from the top.” Donna followed the instructions, stopping when it became impossible to tell if the circle was broken at all. Was her result good? She had no idea. Donna was then asked to repeat the process with her right eye covered, then her left.

“Your vision has worsened slightly since your last check-up, but it does not appear you need glasses,” said the orderly, staring at a piece of paper. “Try to let your eyes rest for a few days. While reading, look up regularly and focus on something far away. If the issues persist, come back.”

None of that made any sense. “What? But if they’re getting worse, don’t I need to get them fixed?”

“You have twenty-twenty vision right now. Of course, if you continue having issues with reading a few days from now, come back. A decline in vision is quite possible.”

“But why?”

The orderly looked at her with slight confusion. “Female Nine, you’re thirty-eight. Depending on your family history, it is likely your vision will get worse in the next few years.”

Donna was surprised at how calm she felt at hearing that. But after all, she already knew that she would grow old in here.


	8. Foreigners

Donna woke up to the sound of keys, and was just sitting up when the door was slammed open. Two guards walked in, and Donna leapt to her feet, blinking sleep out of her eyes. One of the guards upended her box of clothing, another stood in the middle of the cell, looking around. Were they seriously resuming the constant searches again, after months? What time was it, anyway? It was pitch-black outside. Donna stood under the light of the ever-burning lightbulb, watching as the guards flipped the cell upside-down and left without a word. Of course, they found nothing, as they hadn’t bothered to strip-search her. She only had one note on her, and it was inside her bra. Donna had no idea what she’d do if they actually searched her person.

As soon as the door closed, Donna fell back into bed. She pulled the blanket over her face and soon fell back asleep. When she woke up again, she wasn’t sure for a while if the search had been a strange dream or reality. As she wondered if her shirt was still clean enough to wear, she tried to remember details of the search, but soon gave up. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had more important things to think about. Today, Donna was going to get her weekly letter - indeed, she was going to get two letters, because she had been forbidden to receive mail while in total solitary!

First, however, was breakfast. Donna wrote down on one of her pieces of paper what they had been given. She wanted to record what they ate, and how often, and if there were any patterns. That task finished, Donna ate the glue-like oatmeal with dried fruits and drank the tea slowly. The letters wouldn’t go anywhere, and she wanted to prolong the enjoyment. However, when it was time to clean the cell, she moved as fast as possible, eagerness for news from home overcoming restraint. Donna handed over the broom and almost ran to her cell, unfolding the papers and checking which one had been sent first. There, that one. Donna sat down and began to read, savouring every sentence. Her eyes were better now. Who could have thought that the lightbulb would actually do something good for once? Donna chuckled to herself.

On second thought, she had to tell that to Theodosius.

 _Dear Mom,_ the letter began. _Everything is good. Mrs. Coll and her kids have moved in with us because Mrs. Coll’s house got confiscated and she got fired. We’re supposed to call her Aunt Cynthia. I think we’re doing alright. The kids are nice, but Lars doesn’t want to play with them because he thinks Mr. Coll is a bad person._ Who had _written_ this letter? Donna felt grateful that Theodosius had told her beforehand of the situation.

She grabbed one of her few sheets of paper, and noted down to herself to tell Lars to not be so critical of Theodosius, and to not take out his dislike on others. Where had he even gotten the idea from, anyway? Donna did not recall her eldest son ever reading newspapers or watching the news on the television. But who knows? He was nearly ten now, after all.

_We’re going to Aunt Cynthia’s cottage to see if it can be fixed. We’re all really busy right now. If it can be fixed, she’ll move there, but Donna thinks it’s too destroyed. She wants to write now. Love you, Mom! -Aulus_

_We’re all doing alright. Dad baked a cake for Aulus’ birthday. Pity you couldn’t try it, it was really tasty. How are you doing? I hope you’re enjoying the weather, it’s really nice. How is your gardening? Are the potatoes doing well?_ Donna jotted down a reminder to mention the potatoes in her letter back. _I’m doing alright. Grandma and Grandpa are already telling me that I need to start preparing for school, even summer just started! I told them that school is really far away, but they insisted. Oh, and someone on the street told me that you’re a martyr for the cause, but I did what you said and told him what the “cause” really was. I can’t believe people still think those sorts of things!_

Well, that was good. Donna didn’t want her children to be involved with pro-Snow or even pro-Games attitudes. Not only was that wrong, but it would also reflect poorly on Donna herself.

The cell door was opened. Donna leapt to her feet and took off her cap. The guard looked around suspiciously.

“Clean up,” said the woman from Thirteen. “The guests are already arriving.” She locked the door and walked on. Donna put her cap back on, and placed the letters on the table. The foreign dignitaries were here already? She looked around, trying to see what needed to be cleaned up. The blankets were quickly smoothed, the sweater that had been lying under the cot folded and put in the box, and the box itself neatly stowed under the cot. Donna straightened out the books that were on the table, and put the piece of paper with ideas for her letter under the letters themselves in a nice stack. Perfect. Warden Vance himself would have approved. Where was he now, anyway? Donna resolved to find out later.

She walked around the cell, wondering if there was anything else that could be neatened. Donna smoothed out a few small wrinkles on the blanket and combed her hair again. She tried to brush off the grime from her trouser knees, but it was impossible. At least laundry was in a few days, so she’d be able to clean it, as well as the bedsheet she had gotten blood on. Did the prison even stock anything for cleaning out blood? One could have thought that administration was aware that it would probably be necessary at some point, but then again, the Supermax often seemed to have no planning or organization behind it.

The door opened again. Donna doffed her cap. “Now, stand here,” said the same guard who had told her to clean up, and moved on, unlocking the next door and repeating the instructions. Donna put her cap back on and stood just inside the door frame, peeking out. Others were doing the same. There were a lot of guards in the hall, and they stood up straight against the wall instead of slouching or lounging. The door at the close end of the corridor opened, and Donna leaned back, heart hammering. These foreigners had done nothing to stop the McCollum and Snow regimes from fear of nuclear weapons, except allowing refugees to stay. What did they want from them? To ascertain that Panem was ruled by better leaders now? To ascertain that the old regime was truly harmless now? And after all, Donna doubted there was another prison like this in the world. They were a curiosity to stare at.

“Hello,” said a voice with an odd accent, both harsh and musical at once. “Are the conditions satisfactory?” he asked.

If Trotman answered, she either did so very quietly or with a gesture. Or sign language, but that was unlikely. There was the sound of footsteps, and a pause. Was he inside the cell? More footsteps. “Very well, then,” he said, and more footsteps. It sounded like three people were walking. 

“Warden Schimko, how many prisoners are in this wing?” asked another voice, female and with the trace of a different unfamiliar accent, this one slightly sing-song.

“Right now, there are twenty female prisoners, but we are expecting the number to reach as much as a few hundred. The trials are still ongoing.”

“Such a complicated process. Necessary, of course, but complicated.” That was an understatement. “Now, this is...Female Two? The one who served in your capital?” The same question was asked of Song, and she replied that everything was good. Donna had to hold back a laugh. 

The two visitors were shown all of the Peacekeepers, who all replied that things were satisfactory and had their cells looked around. However, there was a pause when they got to Hope, who was just before Donna. Donna knew what they were thinking. The woman had gotten the nickname ‘Destroyer of Hope’ for good reason, and it was unclear how she had managed to wriggle out of the noose.

Whatever the dignitaries were thinking, they did not share it out loud. As soon as Donna heard them approach, she doffed her cap, and watched them come into view. The man was very pale, with white skin, round grey eyes, and straight light-brown hair cropped short. He was of average height and stocky, probably in his forties, and wore a long embroidered shirt and white trousers tucked into black boots. The woman had some resemblance to Donna herself, with the same narrow dark eyes and straight black hair she kept in a complicated updo, but her skin was lighter and she was slightly shorter and older. Her clothing was brightly coloured and oddly patterned; she wore a long skirt that went to the ankle. So this was what foreigners looked like. What countries were they from?

“So, this is the engineer?” asked the woman. Donna nodded, fiddling with her cap. The man stared at her, wrinkling his forehead as if confused by what he saw. The warden looked exhausted for some reason.

“Are the conditions satisfactory?” asked the man. Donna nodded again. He walked into the cell, looking around. The woman picked up her photograph of Dem and the children he had sent a few weeks ago.

“Are these all yours?” she asked. Donna nodded. The man took the photo and studied it intensely.

“My congratulations,” he said. “Children are our true treasure.” Once again, Donna had no idea what to do other than nod. The dignitaries left the cell, and the warden locked the door behind them. Donna put her cap back on, flopped onto the bed, and continued to read her letter as doors opened and closed.

 _Other than that, nobody is bothering us. Dad even got promoted at work! He’s a line cook now, and earns a dollar an hour more!_ That wasn’t much of a promotion, with how expensive five children were. _That’s pretty much it. - Donna_

Dem took over for the rest of the letter, but that didn’t mean more detail. _Everything is going smoothly. Cynthia and her children have settled in well, and everyone is mostly getting along. The children are getting used to each other. Cynthia has a new job lined up already, but, of course, the loss of her savings isn’t something she’ll be able to recover from quickly. I think she may avoid telling Coll the news, so could you please tell him, if you can?_ Donna laughed. First Theodosius passed on news of her own family to her, and now she was being asked to tell him what was going on with his family.

_Your brother called yesterday, he says that everything is good, the weather is fine, and work is progressing at a steady pace. Your parents are likewise doing fine; when Alex called, they spent a good ten minutes prying into his private life. Nothing else is really happening. -Dem :))))))_

Donna was slightly irritated at the lack of detail. True, her own letters weren’t any more descriptive, but that’s because nothing ever happened to her except things she couldn’t write about. Her secret notes, though, were definitely more detailed. 

She picked up the next letter. There wasn’t any acknowledgement of not receiving a reply, as they had gotten her notes and were fully aware of what was going on. Would the censors find it suspicious? Hopefully they thought that there was a more prosaic reason for it. Although, if the censors were as dedicated to their jobs as the guards, it was very likely that they simply didn’t care. That realization made Donna feel much calmer, and she reread the letter, this time actually paying careful attention to what was written. 

She had never realized just how repetitive the letters were. Side by side, the two were practically identical. The same _everything is good_ and _we’re doing fine_ over and over. And worst of all, there was no way to find out more. Dem almost never sent in illicit notes, only cookies and the like. Donna was stuck with this vague impression of her family’s life. Indeed, she knew more about the outside world in general than about her own family, even though it was information about the former that was supposed to be strictly censored!

Was everything just going to slip away? Would she completely lose touch with her husband and children, unable to relate to them and unaware of the everyday trials and successes of their lives? Donna felt sick at the thought of losing everyone like that. A mild stab of anxiety squeezed her chest as she stared at the cell door. That’s what was holding her here. A turn of a key in a lock, and a sentence.

\-------------------

The sun was beating down mercilessly. Donna had poured water over her head immediately after stepping outside, but it was already evaporated from her skin. There was no shade at all save for directly under the trees, and many of the older and weaker prisoners weren’t even pretending to work. 

“I think I’m getting heatstroke,” said Theodosius, wiping at his face with the back of a slightly grimy palm as he sat down in the garden bed. Since it was so dry, there was no dirt, only dust that got into every little fold of skin.

Crumbling a clump of soil, Donna wondered what would happen if someone actually collapsed. “Get some water,” she said.

“We just got here,” Theodosius protested, but he still got up and shambled towards one of the hoses. It was too hot to move quickly or exert oneself, and Donna slowly weeded at what felt like a rate of one weed per minute. She tore out a thin blade of grass and tossed it into the bucket as Theodosius walked back, shirt completely drenched. 

“That feels better,” he said, face and neck glistening with water. “So, what did you think of the foreign dignitaries?” he asked. “They didn’t say much, at least to me.”

“Did they ask about your children?” Donna wanted to know.

“Oh, yes,” Theodosius nodded. “That was so weird. The man asked how old they were, and congratulated me. He also asked the same of Best, and when he said that both of his kids died during the Rebellion, the man _bowed_. I saw it with my own eyes, I was leaning out of the cell slightly to see what was happening.” He shook his head in astonishment. “Strange people.”

“Strange indeed. The man did the same thing with me. Did you hear anything about who they are?”

Theodosius shook his head. “Nothing. I was hoping you know.”

“Well, maybe someone else does,” Donna said, digging out a deep root. “Oh, and Dem told me what happened to your family. In fact, the letter was more informative on your family than mine.”

“And what do they say happened?”

“Apparently, my eldest son thinks you’re a bad person.” Theodosius looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t even know _where_ he got the idea, I’d never have expected him to be interested in the news this early.” Theodosius was rubbing his face with his free hand, the other was still holding the spade.

“How old is he?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Well,” Theodosius said blankly, “I suppose it’s good that he’s interested in current events despite being so young. I remember when I was ten, the only political thing I knew was ‘thank you, President Snow, for our happy childhood.’”

“I think that applies to everyone of our generation,” Donna said glumly.

“Not only ours.”

“True.”

The sun beat down mercilessly. Donna wiped at her face with her sleeve, wondering if she should get some water. It was so hot, she didn’t even feel hungry, just drained. Her clothes were sticking to her skin, and she rolled up her trouser legs a bit more, hoping the guards wouldn’t forbid it. Despite being thin, the shirt and trousers were made from a material that just wouldn’t let her cool down. It was so unpleasant that exposing her skin to the sun was more comfortable than staying covered up.

“You’ll get skin cancer,” Donna warned Theodosius when he rolled up the sleeves of his too-loose shirt almost to the shoulder, exposing untanned skin that, according to Theodosius himself, would burn in a few hours.

“I applied sunscreen,” he retorted.

“Wait, what?” Donna asked. “Where did you get it? Can I have some?”

Tucking in the edges of his sleeves to make them stay rolled up, Theodosius picked up his spade and began to lazily poke at a plant. “I asked the warden,” he said. “Do you even _need_ sunscreen? I’ve never seen you worry about the sun.”

“Well, I’m only at risk of actual sunburn if I go from several months indoors to a full day in the sun, but constant sun exposure is still bad for you, even if you have lots of melanin. Dem uses sunscreen, and he’s way darker than me,” Donna explained as she dug out a dandelion and tossed it in the bucket.

“Huh. I never knew that.” He smoothed out the soil around a potato plant. “Anyway, the checkup is today. Are your eyes better now?”

Donna unstuck her undershirt from her chest. It didn’t make her feel any cooler. “All better now,” she said, not mentioning that it was only for a few years, maximum. Both her parents had started wearing glasses in their early forties. “Who could have guessed that the lightbulb was actually a good thing all along?” Theodosius laughed.

“Well, that’s one problem solved,” he said.

“And one gained,” Donna said darkly as she tore out a weird flower-looking thing. “Do you know if the infirmary has anything to get bloodstains out? Normal soap never works if the stain isn’t fresh, and I didn’t notice it until it was too late.”

Theodosius looked at her with utter confusion. “How can you not notice you’re bleeding?”

It was Donna’s turn to look confused. “Um, you just don’t?”

Realization dawned on his face. “Oh, yeah. In any case, they definitely should have something. Hopefully not that weirdly abrasive toothpaste Cynthia once used. It removed all the blood, but also the dye from the sheets.” Donna snorted.

“I, too, am too lazy to just buy some normal blood-removal products.”

Kim, who had been walking by, leaned over. “What are you laughing about?” she asked.

Donna turned around to face the other woman. “Trying to remove blood, and ending up removing the dye as well.”

“Yeah, that would be terrible,” Kim said. “Especially if everything’s dark grey. That would just look weird.”

“Well, hopefully you all find something that works properly,” said Theodosius. 

Kim squatted down next to them. “Thank you, Mr. Coll. That would be nice. By the way, do either of you know who the foreign visitors are?”

Donna shook her head. “We were just talking about them. What did they say to you?”

“Just ‘hello, is everything satisfactory, goodbye.’” Kim sat down in the dirt, elbows on knees. “You?”

“Same,” said Theodosius, wiping sweat from his face with a sleeve. ”I think they want to know what we think about being here.”

“You think they actually expected us to open up to them?” Donna disagreed. “I’m not going to tell a bunch of strangers about the lightbulbs. Who knows what they’ll report to their superiors.”

Planting his spade in the ground, Theodosius froze in thought for a moment. Donna pulled out a weed as she waited for him to speak. “I just realized,” he began. “I don’t think they have superiors to report to.”

“You think they’re heads of state?” Kim asked sceptically. 

Donna didn’t see why not. “It’s the first time foreigners are officially visiting. Seems reasonable that the heads of state would want to meet with Paylor.” She threw a weed into the bucket. “They didn’t look like heads of state, but who knows how they do things wherever they’re from.”

“That’s true,” conceded Kim, standing up. “Well, I guess none of us know yet what was going on there. I’ll see you around, Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll.”

“Hopefully the guards will open up soon,” said Theodosius, waving his cap like a fan in front of his face. “I’ll see you as well, Ms. Kim.”

“Likewise,” added Donna, compressing the weeds in the bucket as Kim walked off. No matter how much they weeded, the useless plants always grew back immediately. Why couldn’t edible plants grow like that? Then, there wouldn’t be all that fuss with spreading fertilizer and watering and whatever.

Theodosius slowly dragged himself to a hose and drenched himself with water. Sitting back down, he pulled a tube of sunscreen out of his pocket.

“You didn’t tell me you had sunscreen on you,” Donna said accusingly. “Can I have some?”

Abashed, he offered it to her. “I forgot.” Donna quickly applied the sunscreen to all of the exposed parts of her, and gave back the tube. Theodosius slathered himself in a thick layer; his upper arms were visibly greasy. “You know, a part of me wishes we were actually in Thirteen,” he said, referring to the rumours that had constantly circulated during the trial. “At least then, I wouldn’t be burning like this.”

“But then, we’d never see the sun, and even your lack of melanin wouldn’t save you from vitamin D deficiency,” Donna said lightly. In the light of day, the prospect of everything Slice had told them about seemed like a harmless phantasm.

“I hate the sun,” Theodosius grumbled as he pulled his cap lower on his face. “The only thing I hate more is the cold and rain.”

“I don’t even know what’s worse,” Donna said contemplatively.

“Well, we only have to go outside for an hour if it’s raining,” Theodosius pointed out.

“Yes, but if it’s a downpour, your shoes get wet. At least the heat doesn’t ruin clothes.”

“True.” Theodosius sifted through some soil, looking for root fragments. “But with the heat, it’s impossible to cool down. If it’s cold, you can just put on another shirt.”

This little patch of soil was looking completely clean, so Donna moved over slightly, dragging the bucket behind her. Theodosius scooched over as well. “Is this the fifth time we’re going over this bit?” he asked a potato plant. Since the plant didn’t answer, Donna spoke up.

“More than that, I bet,” she said. “You know, I think this is the real reason we’re gardening, instead of making envelopes all day long. The work just reappears constantly without any effort on the part of the administration. I bet-”

“Look!” Theodosius hissed, pointing at something. Startled, Donna looked.

“What are you pointing at?” There was nothing out of the ordinary happening.

“That guard just stole some peas!” he said indignantly. “You get tossed into total solitary over a potato, and he does whatever he wants!”

The food was supposed to go to the state (in the new Panem, as in Thirteen, prisoners had to be useful), but due to the small amount, it was looking doubtful that anything would be left over after the guards had their share. The prisoners would only get access to it after rationing ended, as there was a law stating that people being kept in the prison system, as well as some other categories, had to be strictly limited to their rations unless there were health risks involved in that. Donna, however, was too angry to accept that. “Well, that’s just their hypocrisy again,” she said, going back to the weeding. “They get to act like they’re rich people at a black market, and we’re stuck with the same stew for weeks.”

“You forgot the soup,” Theodosius needled her.

“The soup is literally just the stew with more water added,” she fired back.

\---------------

Donna walked down the corridor in the direction of the infirmary. It did seem rather unfair that they were weighed immediately after eating, but on the other hand, it probably didn’t make much of a difference. The corridor felt oddly empty, even though it looked the same as the one on the first floor. Maybe it was just the knowledge that nobody lived here. She passed door after door, none of them labelled with numbers, until she got to the door into the main corridor. The guard unlocked the door, and Donna walked through. Then, she went through another door. The orderly was filling in a crossword.

“How are your eyes?” she asked.

“Good,” Donna said. “I think they were just tired from the darkness.”

The orderly picked up her notepad. “Alright, take off your shoes and step onto the scale.” Fifty-four kilograms, two hundred grams. This was the lightest she had been in decades. “It appears you’re at a healthy weight. Any complaints?”

“I need something to remove blood from the sheet. And the mattress, too.”

“Ask when it’s laundry day,” said the orderly. “Anything else?”

“No.”

The orderly leafed through the papers on her clipboard. “Thank you, guard, you can take her away.” Donna was led back into the corridor, down the stairs, and to her cell. It would have been faster to go through the central corridor, but she suspected the guards didn’t want her to get even a glimpse of the main door. 

As doors opened and closed, Donna wrote her daily note, hiding the paper in the book of number puzzles. She described the visitors and speculated on their reactions, complained about the heat, and wrote down that joke about the lightbulb. Then, she jotted down some thoughts on her family’s situation. The pen stopped writing, and Donna ran it along the back of her forearm to get it to work again. She was writing the note on toilet paper again, as most of the weekly supply of writing paper went either to the letter or to things she wanted to keep for a while, and even the slightest bit of pressure would make it tear.

She folded the square of paper carefully, and tucked it into the side of her sock. That done, she started to work on a number puzzle in truth. The actual letter home would wait a few days. Donna tended to write the letters the evening before they were collected. She racked her brain for something she could write about as she filled in an odd sort of crossword where the clues were mathematical operations she had to solve. Doing long division of huge numbers in pen was unpleasant to say the least. She filled in the grid with very small handwriting so that if she realized she made a mistake, she could cross it out and still have room in the square for the correct answer. The margins were fully scribbled over. Donna had no paper to spare, so any rough work had to be squeezed into the page.

The sky slowly began to darken as Donna worked on the last clues, the branches outside the window starting to fade into the night. She yawned, penning in the last answer and observing the result. Well, it didn’t look as if anything had gone wrong. Donna closed the book with her pen marking the place and put it on the table. Time for sleep. 

Donna brushed her teeth and placed her shoes neatly by the cot after taking them off. She listened for the sound of footsteps. Nothing. Donna transferred yesterday’s note from her bra to her sock, and tossed the bra and her shirt onto the chair. Climbing into bed, she arranged the blankets so they covered only her upper body and feet. The thin trousers were too warm for the warm and stuffy nights, but if there was a search in the middle of the night, she didn’t want to be half-naked. Donna pulled the blanket over her face, trying to adjust it so there was enough air. Nevertheless, it was stuffy. A guard marched by; Donna heard her open the flap to Donna’s cell and look inside. The guard walked on. Was it the beginning or end of her shift?

Turning over, Donna wondered what the foreigners would tell their governments. What did they think of the situation? Hopefully the guards would let them now. They seemed to be softening up slightly as time went on, even if they tended to snap at the slightest provocation. Of course, that one guard was still picking on Grass every chance he got, but even he was becoming less of a stickler for the rules. Maybe the administration would agree to turn off the lightbulb at night at some point soon. Or at least give them clothes hooks, so she wouldn’t have to dump everything on the chair. Or another pair of shoes. That would be nice. Would they let Dem send her something to wear? Maybe they’d allow packages eventually. You were supposed to be allowed packages in prison, even Donna knew that.

She fell asleep to the silence of the corridor, punctured with occasional footsteps.


	9. National Politics

Donna held the sapling upright as Theodosius and Longview tossed shovelfuls of dirt over the roots. This was the last of the row of trees they were planting, and Donna was looking forward to being done. They were going to be digging up the potatoes today, but first, they had to finish helping Longview plant the trees. Donna picked up a thick stake and held it upright, and Longview carefully began to hammer it into the ground, wary of missing and hitting her. The former Peacekeeper was exhausted, but he was still the strongest of the three.

“I can take over now,” said Donna. Longview shrugged and handed her the hammer.

“Go ahead,” he said. Donna lifted the hammer with difficulty, and weakly hit the stake, causing it to sink by a bit. The she hit it again, and again.

“Alright, that’s good enough,” she said, breathing heavily. The other stake was hammered in by Theodosius, and Longview wrapped thick wire around them and the sapling so it wouldn’t fall over. The three stepped back, and admired their handiwork.

Longview was unimpressed. “All this effort, and I won’t even get to enjoy it.” 

“They’ll bear nuts in a few years, what are you talking about?” Theodosius asked. Walnut trees started to bear fruit in eight to ten years, according to one of Donna’s books, and the saplings were a few years old already. However, it was apparently a bit too hot here for walnuts, so who knew how that would affect it.

“But will we get to eat them?”

That was true, but there was also another factor to consider. “Maybe _you_ won’t, but we’ll get to sit in the shade under them,” Donna pointed out. Longview’s stay in the Supermax was fifteen years shorter than theirs.

At the reference to their sentence length, Longview looked uncomfortable. Donna and Theodosius had the longest finite sentences by far, so they were often stuck between the people already thinking of job applications, and the ones whose only hope was early release. To defuse the tension, Longview walked over to the hoses, and dragged two over. “Can you go turn on the water?” he asked Theodosius.

“I have something else I need to do,” he said impatiently, referring to the potatoes. “Can’t you ask those two?” he said, pointing to Verdant and Best, who were walking up the path. “They’re the experts on water.” The two former Peacekeepers had been the heads of the Coast Guard branch, founded by Best as an independent branch after a spike in refugees sailing away from Panem.

“You won’t run out of time,” Longview said irritably. “Please, Mr. Coll. I don’t want to have to run back and forth, and we do need to water the trees.” Donna, meanwhile, was trying to untangle one of the hoses. Theodosius sighed and went to turn on the taps. 

Hose straightened out, Donna watered the trees, unsure of how much water was needed. If the trees didn’t grow properly, she’d look like an idiot. There were ten of them in a nice row, saplings as tall as her. Maybe one day, she and Theodosius would sit under them and eat the nuts. The letters from outside were downright pessimistic now. One of her old friends and colleagues had written a scathing note about how Donna had no right to complain about her sentence after her admission of guilt and that she should have expected the harsh sentence. Her former secretary had outright stated that Donna’s stance had been a mistake. Both, however, were willing to help Dem type up the notes she had written while in total solitary, the ones where she had written down speeches she had heard and descriptions of meetings she had been present in.

Moving on to the next tree, Donna wondered if she’d have any friends left by the time she got out. If they stubbornly insisted on believing that there was nothing to apologize for, would it even be possible to reason with them? After all, they had worked on the Games just as she had. Donna pulled on the hose, trying to make it reach the farthest trees. Those friends of hers had children, too! What would these kids grow up hearing from their parents? Would the divide between Capitol and District prove insurmountable? Would all this turn out to be pointless?

The ground was soaked from the water. Now, Donna could finally go back to her actual task. The guards had explained how often the trees would need to be watered; hopefully, someone else would handle that. Donna didn’t want to be pushed into yet another job just because she and Theodosius didn’t slack off like most of the others.

“You can turn off the water now!” she called out to him. Theodosius turned the tap shut, and walked over to her.

“Potatoes now?” he asked her. Donna nodded, and the two picked up a shovel each and headed towards their part of the yard as Longview didn’t even react to their leaving. The guards had said it was time to dig up the potatoes, and Donna was eager to see what their harvest would be. She was about to start digging when she realized something was missing.

“We forgot buckets,” she said. Laying down their shovels, the two had to go back to the toolshed and get the buckets.

Carrying two in each hand, Theodosius surveyed the plants. “Anything else we need?” he asked, setting the buckets down.

“I don’t think so,” said Donna. She picked up a shovel and cautiously dug into the ground, afraid of hitting a potato. Slowly, she raised it, and flipped over the dirt. Several large potatoes lay in front of them. Theodosius grinned, and kneeled down to pick them up.

“Wow,” he said in a tone of disbelief. “We actually grew something.” He stared at the potatoes in his hands as if they contained the secrets of the universe. “Wish we could eat them, though.”

Donna was on her knees, sifting through the ground with her hands and pulling out more potatoes. “No thanks,” she said, placing them into a bucket. The metal felt hot enough to burn.

“But- why?” Theodosius asked with an undercurrent of anger. “They are literally _in my hands!_ ” With obvious reluctance, he placed the tubers into the bucket. “I grew the potatoes, why can’t I eat them?”

There were smaller potatoes attached to the roots of the plant. Donna removed one. It was about the same size as the one she had eaten nearly a month ago. “It’s a matter of national politics,” she said sarcastically. Every little facet of life at the Supermax had been decided on by a unanimous decision of the directors, of whom there were thirteen - one from each District. Thus, even buying more soap was a national-level decision.

Theodosius grumbled something indistinct and dug up another shovelful of dirt. Several more potatoes appeared. He tossed them into the bucket as Donna wondered if the really tiny potatoes were worth harvesting.

“Look at this potato,” she said, holding up a tiny tuber about a centimetre in diameter. It was a perfect little sphere, a potato like any other, but much smaller.

“Aww,” Theodosius said, taking it in his hand. “It’s a micro-potato! Or maybe a nano-potato.”

Going through the roots, Donna paused as she saw an even tinier potato. The miniature tuber could have fit on her pinky nail! She carefully removed it from the root and showed it to Theodosius. “Then what’s this?” she asked. “A pico-potato?”

When Theodosius picked it up with two fingers, they practically hid it from view. “Femto-potato,” he said with a laugh.

“Atto-potato.”

“I don’t even know what comes after that.” Theodosius rolled the potatoes in his palm. “Hey, look at this!” he said, picking up a large potato and holding it next to the tiny ones. The contrast was stunning. The normal-sized potato looked absolutely massive next to the tiny ones.

Donna clambered to her feet. “I’ll get another bucket for the tiny potatoes,” she said. “They’ll just get crushed otherwise.”

Setting the tiny potatoes on the shovel blade, Theodosius mumbled his assent as he went back to digging with his hands. Donna went towards the toolshed, pausing only to drink some water from the tap. She felt like she was standing in a frying pan, every drop of sweat evaporating as soon as it appeared. At least digging up the potatoes was more fun than just weeding them over and over. Walking past newly planted trees and other vegetable beds, Donna wondered how many they’d be able to dig up. If a single plant got them a quarter of a bucket, and there were forty plants, that meant _ten buckets of potatoes!_ They’d need a wheelbarrow if that actually happened!

Stepping inside the shed, Donna walked into an argument. Best and Verdant were bickering over Bronstein’s insane escape again.

“The budget was cut because of you!” Verdant said, leaning on a shovel. He still walked with a limp, and couldn’t stand for a long time without support.

Best was more than twenty years older than the fifty-five-year-old Verdant, but he was the one who looked tougher and more imposing. “And I tell you, if you hadn’t all been corrupt, that wouldn’t have been an issue!” The dark and weathered man glared at a pair of rusty shears as he tried to work them.

“Corrupt?” Verdant stood up straighter. “You were the one who demanded the Coast Guard become a seperate force so that there’d be less oversight from Command!” Neither of them were saying anything new. Donna picked up a small bucket from the floor and darted out, not wanting to have the arguing men pay attention to her. Despite tossing the same arguments at each other over and over, they were united in their dislike of her and Theodosius, whom they considered traitors.

She walked back towards Theodosius, observing the happenings in the yard. The guards were lounging, or sitting in the towers at their machine guns. The prisoners were walking around or working. Forty-seven people was a lot and a little at the same time. Too few to allow Donna to simply avoid some of them, and too many to be forced to either get along or be completely isolated. Although, with how much they all disliked one another, it didn’t matter if there were forty-seven or seven prisoners. They wouldn’t get along no matter how few they were in number.

Theodosius looked at the bucket strangely. “Is that a bucket or a cup?” he asked.

“It’s for the tiny potatoes,” she retorted, picking up the handful of pea-sized tubers from the shovel blade. Theodosius had added more. “How much room do they need?” 

“True,” he conceded, turning back to the plant he was digging up. Donna squatted down, put the small bucket next to the big one, and began to poke through the ground. Nothing. She stood up, picked up a shovel, and dug at another plant. Something cracked.

“Well, that sounded bad,” Donna said, trying to hide how upset she was. Had she ruined a potato just by digging carelessly? So stupid. She yanked the shovel out of the ground. A medium-sized potato was impaled on the tip. Theodosius stood up, took the shovel from her, and pulled the potato off it. It was still whole, but had a large gash in the middle.

“So what do we do with this?” asked Theodosius, tossing it in the air and catching it again.

Donna took the potato from him and put it inside an empty bucket. “There’ll probably be a bunch more. We’ll just keep them seperate for now, and then someone else can decide if they’re useful.”

“True,” said Theodosius, digging carefully. He knelt down and pulled out the plant, inspecting the roots. “Hey, look, more nano-potatoes!” He took them off and put them in the small bucket as Donna unearthed the normal-sized tubers. They were already on their second bucket. How many people would this feed?

“Yes,” Donna said sarcastically, “the tiny potatoes will feed _so_ many people.” She picked one up from the ground. Such a tiny little thing. It rolled back and forth across her palm, a perfect oval. _I grew this,_ she thought. She and Theodosius had buried the potato chunks and spread the fertilizer, weeded and watered. Plant a bucket and harvest a sack, that’s what the book said. It was looking like that would happen.

A guard, a man from Nine, approached. Donna and Theodosius stood up, doffing their caps. The guard looked at their harvest so far. “That’s good,” he said, looking at the large buckets. “That’s very good. Don’t worry about the broken ones, they’re still good.” He picked up the small bucket and looked inside. “I suppose I should commend you for your...thriftiness.” He offered the bucket back to Donna.

Donna took back the proffered bucket and put it on the ground. The guard continued speaking. “I thought you two might like to know about Slice.”

That was an entirely different story. They nodded energetically. All they knew was that Slice had been re-arrested and was awaiting trial, which was supposed to be starting soon. It wasn’t going to be run by the Districts, to Donna’s eternal relief. The thought of seeing Slice again was too horrible to even contemplate. “The trial is being run by the Capitol,” the guard began. “It’s of her alone. They’re accusing her of using propaganda and censorship to maintain Snow’s regime.”

Well, wasn’t that a reversal. And she wasn’t going to get out of this one as easily. While accusations of conspiracy to commit crimes against humanity had sounded slightly absurd when levied against Slice, especially given the company she had been in, she wouldn’t be overlooked this time. Now, there would be nobody to hide behind. Donna was looking forward to getting more updates. 

“Has it started yet?” Theodosius asked.

“Yes, but nothing interesting is happening so far. It’s just a simple proceeding against her alone, you know? Not a major trial.” The guard shook his head. “She’s not going to get more that ten years in prison. Anyway, that’s all I know.” He walked off, and Donna and Theodosius put their caps back on and sat down between the potato plants.

“Ten years?” Donna complained. “That’s a drastic decrease from the death penalty.” She poked the ground with the shovel, looking for more potatoes.

“Ten years _maximum_ ,” Theodosius muttered darkly as his hands searched through the loose soil. “I don’t understand - AAH! FUCKING HELL!” He leapt up, shaking his hand madly and wiping it on the ground.

“What is it?” Donna asked, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

Theodosius sat down, still holding his hand weirdly and staring at it in disgust. “I’m alright,” he said. “I think I touched a worm or something. Freaked out when it started moving.”

“Oh,” Donna said, going back to digging. “Anyway, what don’t you understand?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I just can’t understand how she got away like that. Remember when the case against her was being read out? Even those who thought she was just there because she was the highest-ranking survivor realized that there was a reason she was there.”

“She _is_ the highest-ranking survivor, though. If Kren hadn’t killed himself, nobody would have spared a thought for Slice.”

“True,” Theodosius conceded. He stood up and unearthed several more plants. “Except Thirteen. They took her for questioning even though Kren was still alive at that point.” Slice had surrendered, hoping that would get her better treatment. Instead, it got her taken back to Thirteen, where she was tortured for months before being brought to the Capitol for trial. Her stories still terrified Donna and Theodosius, and she was sure the others also remembered them well.

“Yeah, but Thirteen released all their prisoners ages ago. She would have been back on the televisions already if not for Kren shooting himself and leaving her holding the bag. I mean, she was just a deputy.” Donna pointed a potato at him for emphasis before tossing it into a bucket.

“Deputies are also being tried-”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Yes. In a different trial. I didn’t see Bauer next to Cotillion. Or Reznik.”

Theodosius rubbed the dirt off a large potato. “They should have been there,” he said, tossing it into the bucket. This wasn’t the first time he was saying that. Cotillion had headed the Institute for Genetic Research, and Bauer and Reznik had been department heads of the animal and human mutt programs respectively.

Several of Reznik’s creations had testified at the trial. Donna still shuddered to think of one of them, the eyeless youth who had been made solely to inspire terror. “I don’t think it will make much of a difference,” she said. “After the eyeless youth, there’s no way Reznik is getting away with her life. And Bauer’s not going to live long, anyway.” The man had experienced a severe heart attack after the eyeless youth had tried to prank him by hiding in his bedroom closet and jumping out in the middle of the night, and had never fully recovered.

Theodosius smirked slightly. “I think Bauer’s the only person actually happy about the lightbulbs never being turned off,” he said, trying to choke back laughter. Rumour had it the man was terrified of the dark, and had in fact removed the closet from his bedroom after the incident. Donna snorted, even though she logically knew there was nothing funny about a child whose mere presence inspired fear.

“What are you laughing about?” asked a voice. Startled, Donna turned around. She hadn’t heard Blatt approach.

“The trial of the officials,” Theodosius said vaguely. “Just some news we got.” He stood up so he could talk to Blatt properly, and Donna followed suit.

Blatt looked at them strangely. “I know about that. There’s nothing funny in the fact that this is still somehow happening. Don’t they have more important things to worry about?” Theodosius was about to speak, but Blatt cut him off. “Yes, Mr. Coll, I know you think this is important. But I refuse to believe that chasing down the remnants of the old government is a priority for Paylor. She has much more important issues to worry about.”

“Paylor’s not chasing anyone down,” Donna retorted. “It’s the Inter-District Committee, and they get more and more eager with every sentencing.”

“But it has to stop at some point,” Blatt said. “They can’t actually indict half the Capitol, no matter how much they want to. It’s simply impractical. Not only is it logistically impossible, but the new government needs qualified cadres, and where will they get them? The entire thing with the trials was a mistake, and every day it continues, the mistake becomes deeper and deeper. The trials after the Dark Days involved an order of magnitude less people.”

Aha! That was an easy argument to deal with. ”Surely you do not think that they were equally fair, though?” The trials of the leaders of the First Rebellion had been show trials through and through, and had culminated in public executions.

“Of course not,” said Blatt, who was only still breathing because her trial had been scrupulously fair towards the defendants. “I am only making a comparison. Both methods were incorrect.”

Theodosius cut in. “Forgive me for believing that one is more correct than the other,” he said coldly, clutching a potato.

“You would say that,” Blatt said. She glanced at the path, where two guards were walking towards them. “I will see you around, Mr. Coll, Mrs. Blues.”

“Likewise,” they answered in unison and went back to the potatoes.

\-------------------

The patch of ground looked oddly empty without the potatoes. With a rake, Donna smoothed it out as Theodosius bent down to pick out tiny weeds and the occasional potato that they had missed. 

“You know what I was just thinking?” he asked, standing up and brushing off his knees. “I can rake for a while, if you want,” he added, taking it from her hands.

Getting to rest a bit would be nice. “Sure, if you want. And you were thinking about what’s gonna happen to our potatoes?” The buckets had been emptied into large sacks, which then got taken away by the guards to somewhere. Donna hoped they’d get to eat them, especially since rationing was going to end after the harvest ended, but she wasn’t going to bet on it.

“No,” Theodosius said, slowly smoothing out the soil. “I was thinking that we really need some clothes hooks in our cells.”

“That’s true,” Donna agreed. “I hate having to dump everything all over the place. Thing is, if I got to ask for something, I’d rather ask for the lightbulb to be turned off at night.”

“We’re not getting the lights turned off,” Theodosius retorted as he smoothed out the edges of the patch. “We might be able to persuade them to give us clothes hooks.”

Donna took the rake from Theodosius, who was breathing heavily. The sun was slowly baking them all, and the wood was warm to the touch. At least it was hot, not cold. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and pulled her cap lower, trying to block out the sun better. If only it could be fall already. Then she wouldn’t be in danger of overheating.

Although fall meant cold rain, so that wasn’t much better. Donna supposed all the seasons were unpleasant in some way, and it was just a question of what you hated less. Boil in a shirt or freeze in a jacket? The advantage of summer was that she didn’t have to worry about finding a place to put her jacket.

“I don’t think now is a good time,” she said. “We should wait for when we actually need to wear our jackets, and then say we need to be able to hang them up to dry.”

“That’s the thing,” said Theodosius, picking up the half-full bucket of potatoes they had found at the last moment. “Administration’s gonna argue about it, and that will take time. If we ask now, they should be done arguing just in time.”

Donna shouldered her rake and picked up the bucket of weeds. “Huh, that’s true,” she said as they headed towards the shed. They politely nodded to the others as they walked up to the compost pile and dumped out the weeds, and then put back the rake and bucket. “Anyway, where do we put the potatoes? I don’t see that guard anywhere.”

Best and Verdant slowly walked by, nodding politely to the two of them, who returned the gesture. The two men were back to being friendly to each other.

“Eh, I bet we can just leave it outside the shed.” Theodosius placed it right outside the door, and stared out at the yard. He turned back to Donna. “What do you want to plant next?”

\------------------

Picking up their dinner, the prisoners also received the library books they had asked for that week. Donna placed her tray on top of the small stack of books so she could actually carry everything without dropping it, and slowly walked back to her cell.

“What did you get?” she asked Drape, who was holding several very thin books. Wouldn’t she just finish them all in an evening?

“Philosophy,” Drape answered. “From before the Cataclysm. They had some strange ideas back then.” Donna had once also liked to read pre-Cataclysm books, but she had preferred fiction, even though it was often hard to tell what was true and what - made up. Now, though, she was focusing on foreign books, as it was the only way to get close to the outside world.

“Oh, yes,” Donna said. “I’m reading books from other countries right now, and it is so strange. I can’t believe people think and act like that.”

Drape studied her oatmeal as if expecting it to run away. “I’ve been thinking of reading foreign books, too,” she said. “After all, it’s the only way to find out about the rest of the world. I don’t want to be completely lost when I get out.” Since Drape was getting out in just six years, Donna chose not to respond to that. They were at their cell doors already, anyway.

Donna sat down at her table, eager to finally eat. Slowly, she sipped the tea and ate the oatmeal, which had more dried fruit in it than usual. Was this a good sign? She licked the tray and spoon clean, then got up and washed her face and neck in the sink. Her hands, of course, were so grimy that it would take a good ten minutes of scrubbing to get them clean. Were her wrists thinner than before? Donna could not remember what they had looked like previously. Her ribs and collarbone were definitely more prominent, as well as her hip bones, but she wasn’t sure about her wrists. Had she always been able to encircle her wrists with the thumb and forefinger of her other hand? Donna had no idea.

She handed back the tray, and went to her books. Donna flipped through her sign language textbook, looking away from the page and forming the signs from memory. She made simple phrases, trying to go slowly and carefully. Mitman said that signing too fast was like speaking too fast, not everyone would be able to understand even if all the words were clear. One motion at a time, Donna spoke with the lightbulb. “My name is Donna,” she signed. It was important to practice the basics constantly, especially since she didn’t really speak with anyone fluent regularly. “I am thirty-eight years old. I want to eat more. I don’t like you.” No, that just felt wrong. It wasn’t the lightbulb’s fault it had to glow all the time. “I’m sorry,” Donna said. She flipped through her book, trying to find a sign. There. “You’re bright. Can’t sleep.”

There was an exercise in the book where she had to look at images of signs and translate them into written words. Of course, it would have been much better to just practice with someone else, but Theodosius was just as bad at it as her and Mitman couldn’t be everywhere at once. Plus, he didn’t like them anyway.

Donna wrote translations on a piece of her precious paper. So far, what they wrote didn’t get confiscated, but administration was extremely stingy with paper. It went almost entirely to letters home and keeping track of various things, like how many books she read and what they got to eat. Only a little bit was left over for her diary, so Donna was forced to write most of her entries on toilet paper or whatever bits of paper wrapping or labels she could find in the yard. She couldn’t use those scraps for the studying, because then administration would decide that they had access to too much paper, and dye the toilet paper black or something so they couldn’t use it to write.

Lesson finished, Donna checked her answers, pleased that she had made no mistakes. When West arrived, which was probably going to be next year, Donna would be ready. She had no illusions on West’s willingness to talk to her, but just being able to communicate properly would definitely be useful from time to time. How many of West’s co-defendants even knew sign language? Donna wracked her memory trying to remember who from Panem Steelworks was on trial, but her memory for isolated names wasn’t as good as her memory for conversation. She tried to approach it from another angle, trying to figure out people with what positions would be prosecuted.

The CEO, definitely, as well as other department heads and administrators and whatnot. Also, there would be much lower-ranked people who worked directly with the Districts, because of their personal responsibility for the conditions there. The majority of owners and managers of various enterprises were being tried in the Districts where their plants, factories, and mines had been located, but PS had been located in multiple Districts. West, for example, had been head of research and had traveled extensively to Three, Six, Twelve, and probably other places. 

Pen rolled over paper as Donna wrote down all she knew about Panem Steelworks. She had worked with them from her first days with the Games, as it was from their factories in Six that the materials needed for railroad construction had come. Donna remembered the angry telephone calls at odd hours of the night when the schedule had been changed, the three-way conversations between on location, local managers from Six, and the offices in the Capitol, sometimes with Peacekeeper Command thrown in. It had all been so hectic, but the Arenas had always been finished in time. She missed it, in a way. Watching the project come together out of what had seemed like endless chaos. All-nighters fueled with coffee and snack cakes. Huddling around the television with the engineers and labourers.

Donna paused, slightly horrified. Why did she miss the Games if she knew just how horrible they had been? All she had done was build, but she had never denied knowing what her constructions would be used for. How was it that she still longed for that hectic lifestyle if she knew what it had created, year after year? But then again, she had always known what she was building, and had never really thought about it. So did that mean that any guilt would automatically not be sincere?

She kept on writing, unsure of why she was putting this down on paper. So many people had managed to realize that the Games were evil and remove themselves from the industry, or even join the Rebellion. Why not others, then? Donna had children of her own, she had sympathized with the District workers when they had talked about their families, why had she been willing to accept that the Games were necessary and put it out of her mind?

It was darkening outside. Donna hid the paper, put away the book of number puzzles that she had been hiding behind, and got ready for bed. It was too warm in socks, but there was really no better place to hide the papers at night, and the searches were too frequent to risk just putting them somewhere in the cell. She lay on her stomach, trying to ignore the light, and soon fell asleep.


	10. Arguments

Trying to hide from the wind, Donna and Theodosius walked around the yard. The multicoloured foliage of the trees was beautiful, but the only thing Donna could think about was the fact that it was all going to wither away soon. She had been looking forward to the end of rationing for so long, but now that it was nearly here - she just had to get to dinner! - the only thing she could think about was how much she didn’t want winter to happen.

“I wonder what’s going to be for dinner,” Donna said, not for the first time.

Theodosius took a pebble out of one pocket and placed it in another. He kept track of how many laps he walked. “Probably the same thing as always, just a couple hundred calories extra.”

“Couple hundred? More like couple ten.” They were going to be fed as many calories as they needed to maintain a stable healthy weight, and not one more. Donna couldn’t imagine the effort that went into doing all those calculations. 

They paused to nod to Smith, who floated by while humming _The Hanging Tree_. She returned the nod, signed something that vaguely resembled a greeting, and kept on walking. Donna was beginning to doubt the woman would ever recover from her month-long stay in total solitary. At least her kids were safely living with a friend, who was willing to house them indefinitely.

“Is she ever going to stop humming that?” Theodosius asked irritably. 

“Hopefully,” Donna answered. “It’s driving me insane. At least you only have to hear her out here.”

“Well, that’s true.”

They kept on walking around the yard. Donna rubbed her fingers together in her pockets, annoyed at the chill. Good thing the harvest was over now, as her hands didn’t work properly from the cold. While it wasn’t actually _cold_ yet, it was cool enough for fingers to become numb after enough time spent outside. Donna was actually looking forward to going back inside to clean the corridors. Theodosius took his hands out of his pockets, and blew on them for warmth.

“I have no idea how I’m going to hold a saw,” he complained. Donna nodded miserably.

To their right, Smith was standing slightly off the trail and was arguing with Hryb. The thirty-year-old was the most annoying of the prisoners. He and Donna never spoke, as trying to argue with him was like arguing with a wall, and that suited Donna just fine. If he wanted to live in a world of his delusions, he was welcome to it. Donna and Theodosius slowed down to listen to the argument.

Face scrunched up, Smith was speaking in a choked voice. “So what? Will you really turn away from them like that?”

Hryb seemed unimpressed. “I am not going to let them see me like this. That would mean playing by their rules, which means legitimizing this sentence, and I refuse to let that happen!” He paused. “And I’d rather my son has no memories of me than memories of me like this.”

Smith looked absolutely outraged. “You would _choose_ to let your son live without ever meeting his father? You have to be practical!” she croaked. “You can’t just hope that they come to their senses and put and end to all of this!” Smith was stuttering now, barely choking out words. “Are you really willing to never-” 

She was sobbing now, wiping at her eyes with her hands. Smith was trying to speak, but couldn’t. Hryb threw his hands up in the air.

“I can’t argue with crying,” he said. “If you can’t even state an argument properly-” Hryb turned around and marched off, pausing only to glare at Donna and Theodosius.

They resumed their usual speed, not looking back at Smith. It was unpleasant to watch someone lose control like that. During the trial, Donna had been afraid of getting an anxiety attack and being unable to defend herself properly. Now that she thought about it, those fears had been misguided. In university, she had never had an attack while writing an exam, only when studying and when waiting to get the results, and the same thing had happened when her life had been at stake and not her marks.

Now that they were safe, it was a strange time to have rattled nerves. Donna had always calmed down after receiving her exam results, but then again, they had always been good. There had never been any ‘what do I do now?’ moments for her before. Not like this. Nothing even close to like this.

Other than the slight chill, the weather was good. The sun was brightly shining, and when Donna turned her face towards it, she could feel the warmth on her skin. “I wonder what the children are doing,” she said contemplatively. “Do you think they’re enjoying the weather?”

Theodosius blew on his hands again. “Not much to enjoy out here,” he said. “And they’re in school right now, anyway.”

“The weather’s not that bad. Just a chilly wind.” Donna wore her jacket unzipped, as it was too warm otherwise. “I forgot they’re in school, though. They don’t talk about it much in their letters.”

Back at the beginning of the route, Theodosius removed a pebble from one pocket and put it in another. “Cynthia always sends me the smallest updates.” He smiled slightly. “She always tells the kids that if they do poorly, she’ll tell me.”

Dem, too, had once kept their children in line with repeated warnings of ‘just wait until your mother finds out’. Donna wondered if the threat had remained effective with her so far away. Most likely, it had. Even during her longest trips to on location she had managed to retain some sort of presence, and most of her children were too young to comprehend exactly what twenty-five years meant. Unlike Theodosius, though, her eldest was thirteen, old enough to understand what was going on.

“I don’t think that will work with mine,” Donna said. “Dem wrote that Donna keeps on telling the younger ones that since I’m not around, I can’t do anything to them. I write to her, and she just ignores it!”

“Poor Demetrius. He’s got a teenager on his hands.”

“At least Cynthia knows what to expect now,” Donna pointed out.

“True,” said Theodosius, and fell silent. Donna could guess what he was thinking about. Unless they managed to get amnestied, they would be released when all of their children were long-grown. “By the way, I asked a warden about the clothes hooks this morning,” he said, changing the topic.

The clothes hooks had been a matter of debate for weeks now. “Any progress?”

“No. They’re still arguing. I think they’re just arguing for the sake of arguing, at this point.” The Districts had simply been unable to maintain the united front of the last phase of the Rebellion. Cracks had already begun to appear before the trial, not that that had helped the defendants any; the Tribunal had not permitted even a hint of discord to enter the courtroom and the processes were still going strong. By now, there were serious disagreements about the role various Districts were going to play in the new Panem, disagreements that constantly simmered under the surface in the Supermax which was the only place where people from all the Districts worked closely together, but not as official representatives. A small argument about the enforcing of a minor rule quickly morphed into furious debate at the directors’ weekly meetings as they used the opportunity to needle each other in any way possible.

“Well, I hope they figure something out soon,” Donna said. “This isn’t fair. First we don’t get anywhere to hang our clothes, then they yell at us for leaving things lying around.” Constantly transferring her jacket from the cot to the chair was just part of her daily routine now. Placing it on the floor would have been much easier, but Donna didn’t want it to get dirty.

Theodosius looked around, seeing if there was a guard close by. “They need _something_ to do,” he said once he was certain there were none within hearing range, “and this way, they feel like they’re actually doing their jobs.” Donna had heard from the guards that this was a very desirable posting, as it meant a lot of sitting around and doing whatever one wanted. Some of the guards were by now excellent speakers of sign language, others took correspondence courses, still others read books or solved crosswords. Many of them had been unable to get anything beyond the most basic education under the old regime, and were enthusiastically trying to compensate for that now. A few from places such as Ten and Eleven had even struggled to read when they had first joined the armed forces, and now, they had their noses in books most of the time just like everyone else.

“It’s their own fault for sending in so many guards,” Donna said. “There’s just too much of them to give everyone something to do.” There were more than two guards for each prisoner. Maybe once the prison actually filled up it would look more reasonable, but for now, there were simply more guards than tasks that needed to be carried out.

As they walked, they passed a guard. The woman from Seven was supposed to be making sure nobody was doing anything forbidden, but she was too engrossed in a carpentry manual to be paying attention to them. Before, there had been a strict system of social stratification in the Districts, where nearly everyone did the same thing their parents had done with very few opportunities for advancement. Donna wondered where the guard had worked before. A logging camp? A mill? A secondary industry, like fishing? Some of the guards had eagerly talked about their pasts, while others preferred to stay silent.

It was almost warm now, the gusts of wind only rarely biting at their skin, and even it wasn’t too unpleasant. Theodosius unzipped his jacket and took his hands out of their pockets. “Weather’s getting better now,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Donna, lowering the brim of her cap to protect from the sun’s glare. “I guess it just takes a while to warm up.”

\------------------

The bucket turned over with a loud crash, and the water went everywhere in a small flood. Theodosius swore and put the bucket upright again, but it was too late. There was now a large puddle in the middle of the corridor. Donna poked at it with her mop, trying to spread the water out somewhat, but it was a futile effort.

“Now what?” Theodosius asked, hands on hips as he surveyed the damage. “Do we just try to spread it out, or...” He trailed off, searching for an idea.

Donna lifted her sopping mop. “I guess we have to. Not like we can do anything else.”

“Makes sense,” Theodosius said, and began to spread out the water. That kind of defeated the purpose of mopping, if the dirty water was spread throughout the corridor, but any other solution would have been too energy-consuming. Plus, they’d probably have to wash the corridor again at some point later. They were on the third floor, which was for now completely unused. It was expected to fill up in a few years’ time, but for the time being, not a soul went up here except to clean.

It was warm up here, despite the fact that no rooms were in use. It was impossible to heat or not heat just one floor, not counting the basements and the infirmary. Thus, administration was forced to pay for the heating of the entire building, even though only one floor was actually inhabited. Donna wondered what the people of the Capitol thought of having to pay for the upkeep of the Supermax out of their tax money, as the prison was funded out of the municipal budget.

“This is completely pointless,” Theodosius said as he made the puddle wider. “We’re just putting the dirt back on the floor.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Donna said, “but it’ll get cleaned again later at some point, anyway.”

The puddle was by now a giant patch of wet floor. “So we’re just creating more work for ourselves?”

Novik, who had been scrubbing the walls, cut in. “I don’t see reason to complain,” she said in a slightly cold tone. Donna hadn’t even noticed her get close enough to hear; they had been practically whispering. “Better this than pruning the trees.”

Leaning on the broom, Theodosius stopped in his tracks. “I don’t even know how to prune trees,” he said. “And I’d rather do my job properly the first time around.”

“Yeah,” said Donna, poking at a dry part of the floor. “I want to do things right, not just create more work for myself.”

At that Novik leaned forward with a combative air. “I’m sure that’s a principle you’ve always lived by. Aren’t you two just the perfect prisoners, huh?” She put her hands on her hips, holding the rag clenched in her right fist. “So worried about impressing. When administration says walk, you run. I remember well when that enthusiasm was for a different purpose.” The fifty-two-year-old former Gamemaker assistant had interacted with both of them in their official capacities.

“As if you didn’t serve the same...purpose.” Theodosius sounded more irritated than angry.

Novik waved the rag in their direction. “Don’t try to apply your ideas of morality to the rest of us,” she spat, with a final flap of the rag for emphasis. “We all know when you switched sides.” It was sometimes odd to realize just how much the rest of the prisoners clung to their belief that none of their actions had been criminal, even if they were willing to admit that Snow had done some things wrong.

“Better late than never,” said Donna, and immediately regretted it. Novik reared back as if Donna had just thrown Novik’s indictment at her. The other prisoners who had been working were now gathered around them. The guards kept one eye on them and another on a textbook. There had been constant threats from administration to forbid them from talking to each other, but none of the guards ever gave as much as a hint of wanting to enforce that.

“I don’t know about you two,” Novik said, “but to me, it seems that talking the way you do about the legally elected government-” That was a stretch, but Donna wasn’t going to go there “-without having actually used your power in ways that fit your beliefs seems just slightly odd. And people say things to stay alive, yes, but why keep on insisting you believe that nonsense? Neither of the options make sense to me.”

Theodosius resumed his mopping. “It’s not hypocrisy if you have a sincere change in opinion, that’s what I say.”

“You heard the testimony same as us,” Donna added. “I know you couldn’t have just brushed that aside.”

Wringing out the rag over a bucket, Novik looked at them strangely. The former assistant Gamemaker always managed to find a way to not feel responsible for the Games, as did everyone else of her position. “I had no responsibility over the final decisions. Zero. They only threw me in here because I had seniority, even though it was the exact opposite!” Entering the preparatory courses had been a matter of connections, becoming an assistant Gamemaker had been purely meritocratic, and promotion to full Gamemaker had been, once again, a matter of connections. The older assistants had been quite influential, even if they had technically not been allowed to make independent decisions or even propose ideas to the Head Gamemaker.

“Of course,” said Donna blankly as she swept her mop over the floor. She had no energy for arguing the same argument for the tenth time. Novik looked like she was ready to keep on going, but she went back to washing the wall without saying anything else. The small crowd also drifted away, and the guards began to quiz each other on basic chemistry. Donna was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. 

Once, she had sat on her bed, surrounded by textbooks, as her parents shouted at Alex in the living room and he shouted back. Everything had been so easy back then. Study so you can do well on exams, do well on exams to get a good job. Shake hands with Dad’s acquaintances and make polite chit-chat so they put in a good word for you. If only she had put in less effort, and gotten her application rejected. Or more effort, so nobody would have put her up for promotion due to needing her on location. After all, she had been an engineer, not a project manager, and the position of Head Engineer had had nothing to do with engineering and everything - with project management. 

“Did I ever tell you why I was promoted?” Donna asked Theodosius.

“No,” he said, moving the bucket, “but I was in those circles, too. It was easy to figure out. Several groups were in a deadlock and Snow was getting impatient, so they agreed to put forward someone in favour but without influence, and then see who managed to wrest the position from them.”

There was by now no trace of a puddle, only a large damp patch of floor. “I felt like I had been thrown into a lake of piranhas,” Donna said, remembering those meetings. Trying to balance intrigue with actually doing her job had been insanely difficult, as some people had been willing to commit sabotage just to make her look bad. She had been “in favour”, yes, but not because of political fervour. It had been quite the opposite. Since she had stayed out of politics and focused on her job, nobody had worried about her or considered her a threat worthy of badmouthing to Snow. Until she unexpectedly got the promotion.

Someone laughed. Stone, who had once headed the security force on location, was leaning on his mop. “You forgot to mention that you had been the biggest piranha of them all!” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Donna didn’t dignify that with an answer. What did he know? Stone had spent all of his time at the construction sites or in the barracks, not at the conferences and meetings. Before getting here, their longest conversation had been less than a minute long.

Donna picked up the bucket and went to get more water. Neither of the guards stirred as she walked down the corridor towards the closet of cleaning supplies. She couldn’t leave that section of the corridor, as there were locked doors blocking the way, and the closet contained nothing more dangerous than brooms and cleaning fluids. Maybe Donna could poison herself, sure, but none of them were dangerous enough to be lethal. The bleach and drain-cleaning fluid were behind lock and key somewhere else, for instance. The only thing she had access to was normal soap and the like.

Turning on the tap, Donna poured some of the soap into the bucket. Several years ago, Aulus had managed to eat some when Donna had been on location. According to Dem, he had gotten sick, but not severely. Maybe if she really didn’t want to work at some point, she could eat the piece of soap that was in her cell. 

The bucket slowly filled with water. Donna turned off the tap and began to lug it back down the corridor. Holding it away from her body so it didn’t collide with her leg and splash water on her, Donna walked slowly, struggling with the weight. When she got to the part of the corridor that needed to be mopped, she nearly dropped the bucket. “I’m back,” she told Theodosius, shaking out her arm. He dipped the mop in the bucket, squeezed out excess water against its side, and began to clean the floor properly. Donna followed suit once her arm stopped feeling like it was going to fall off. 

She swept the mop along the bottom of the wall, trying to remove the dirt and dust that was hidden in the corner. The straight, damp line looked satisfying to the eye, and Donna continued adding more lines, moving closer and closer to the centre of the corridor. Sweep, sweep, sweep. Theodosius picked up the bucket and moved it to the dry part of the corridor, which was thankfully also farther away from the other prisoners. Donna made a horizontal line, creating a neat division between the clean and dirty parts of the corridor. She mopped from the centre of the corridor to the wall, and Theodosius cleaned the other side. This way, they barely had to move their feet, just stepping back slightly after each sweep of the mop.

“Well, that’s done,” Donna said, surveying the corridor. Novik, who was standing on a ladder and washing the wall, glared at them. “I guess we should wash the walls now,” she added. Novik glared harder.

“Sure,” said Theodosius. “WIth the mops?”

“Why not?”

That soon proved to be a bad idea. The mop was surprisingly heavy, and trying to raise it high enough to wash the top of the wall was extremely difficult. No matter how well she squeezed it out, water dripped on Donna. The two guards sitting at their end of the hall looked up from their textbooks, looking at them with confusion. The wall wasn’t even dirty, and who had ever heard of washing the walls, anyway? This was more pointless busywork, like the envelopes. Didn’t administration want them to be “useful”?

“We should just get rags,” said Theodosius, shaking out his arms. He leaned his broom against the wall and walked off in the direction of the cupboard.

Donna continued to mop the lower section of the wall as Novik scrubbed the top. The former Gamemaker assistant was standing on a stepstool on the tips of her toes, trying to reach the top of the wall. She stepped down and shoved the stepstool to the side slightly. Only a small section of the corridor remained to be cleaned, the rest was either damp from washing or already dried. Donna hefted the mop and cleaned the wall at chest-height. Soaked in water, it was extremely heavy. Fortunately, Theodosius soon returned, holding rags.

“Thanks,” said Donna, picking up one and dunking it in the bucket. She wrung out the rag and began to scrub at the wall at head-height. Theodosius, being a head taller than her, did likewise. The rags came away barely touched with dirt, and as she ran it over the wall, she remembered a joke Dovek had told during the trial. As the prosecution read documents pertaining to economic policy carried out before any of the defendants had even started school, the former Minister of Internal Affairs had joked that the Tribunal had already decided their fate, and was now boring them to death.

As she remembered the joke, Donna grimaced slightly. Dovek had been so confident that they were all going to die, he had tried to cheer everyone up by telling them that they were going to be remembered as martyrs. Delusion, of course, but what else could one do when the noose was already tightening? They had all believed either that they were all already doomed, or that the trial was a sort of final Hunger Games and only one person was going to survive (and nobody had been delusional enough to believe that they had a better chance than Slice; the woman would have been hated had she not been so friendly.)

Leaning over to Theodosius, she whispered, “You think they’re just trying to bore us to death with this cleaning?” 

His face twisted in a half-smirk, half-grimace as he dipped the rag into the bucket. “You know, I never-” Theodosius fell silent, and the only sound was the falling of drops of water into the bucket as he wrung out the rag. Donna regretted opening her mouth. Once, she had been able to read a person without even hearing a word from them, and now, she couldn’t even predict how a joke would be received. Novik looked ready to start another spat, but one of the guards spoke up first.

“Male Fifteen!” said a man from Eight. Theodosius turned around, straightening out and doffing his cap. “Can you explain this to me?” the guard asked, pointing at his textbook.

Theodosius leaned over the book. “What is it exactly you don’t understand?” he asked. Donna slowly shuffled over so she could see better. What was it that baffled the man? She snuck a look at the textbook, and saw an introduction to essay-writing that was on the level of something Donna had learned at the age of ten. The other guard, a woman from One, was working through a gigantic set of physics problems of the sort that Donna had enjoyed figuring out in highschool. Another indictment of the old Panem.

The guard shrugged. He seemed to be regretting having asked Theodosius for help. “I just don’t get why I have to say the same thing over and over. Like, what’s even the point of the conclusion? It says I have to restate my arguments in a new way, but it also says I shouldn’t say new information.” He fidgeted with his pencil, not raising his eyes from the textbook.

“Well, I’m really not an expert in this,” Theodosius said, flipping to the next page in the textbook. “I can try, though.”

“Oh, no, I trust you,” said the guard. “I was there at that speech you made in 73.” Theodosius drew back warily. “I know you understand this stuff.” At that, Theodosius looked ready to crumple and fight at the same time. He hated being reminded of the tour of the Districts he had made that year, calling on the population to work harder and produce more for the same wages.

Flipping back to the previous page, Theodosius perused something written there. “The concluding paragraph summarizes your arguments, making it stick in the readers’ minds,” he began. “Remember, this is the structure of a very short essay. Once you move into longer papers, it will be very likely that an inattentive reader will have forgotten by the end what you had said in the beginning, and re-stating your arguments will refresh their memory. They’ll come away with your main points stuck in their minds. This is doubly important in speeches, where you can’t just go back and reread a section you’ve forgotten.”

“Okay, but what’s this thing about saying it in a new way? Isn’t that just adding another argument?” the guard asked.

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair. “It’s less about saying a new way, and more about putting a different slant to things. For example, if you’re arguing why a certain policy will or won’t work for Eight because of the way things are there, you can add a reference to other Districts at the very end. You’re not adding another argument, as the focus of your essay is specifically Eight, you’re just giving the audience another way to look at things. But yes, you should be careful and make sure you don’t end with an unsubstantiated argument.”

The guard didn’t raise his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “That makes sense.”

“You’re welcome,” said Theodosius.

“Get back to work now, Male Fifteen,” the guard commanded. Theodosius nodded, put his cap back on, and walked back towards the bucket. As he dipped the rag into the water, the guard began to write something in a notebook. Of course, _they_ got all the paper they wanted, while Donna used the smallest handwriting possible, and still had to scavenge extra paper to be able to do her writing. She knelt down to scrub at the bottom of the wall, wondering what she’d write in her diary today. Probably about the dinner. Even though it wasn’t even lunch yet, Donna was already looking forward to dinner.

“What do you think we’re having for dinner?” Donna asked Novik.

\-----------------

Jittery with anticipation, Donna bade farewell for the day to Theodosius as they went to their respective wings for dinner. The hunger chewing on her insides seemed to be multiplied now that she was so close to not feeling it anymore. What would they be having? Donna knew it was probably going to be more of the same, but a part of her didn’t want to give up hope of something new. She was tired of the same vegetable stew with soy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she wanted to have tea that was stronger than water. 

Prisoners milled around the corridor, waiting for the cart. A warden snapped at them to get into an orderly line, and they leapt to obey. Donna was thankful to have a low number as never before. As the food cart was rolled in, she craned her neck, trying to see what was on the trays. 

“Female One!” called out one of the guards. Trotman picked up her tray and disappeared to her cell, not even staying behind to gossip. What _was_ on those trays? Donna’s insides were clenching painfully. “Female Two!” Song did the same. As the line in front of her shortened, Donna could better see the cart. Dinner did indeed look different today! A tray with a portion of something, a piece of bread, and a cup, as always, but there was also a piece of fresh fruit on each tray! This was amazing! Now that she was close enough, she could make out that the portions were slightly different sizes on different trays. Thirteen nutrition. How were they going to keep track of who needed what?

“Female Nine!” Donna stretched out her hands and was given a tray with the number ‘9’ drawn on the side. That explained it. She quickly walked to her cell and sat down at the table, eager to get eating. The portion of vegetable stew looked like, well, vegetable stew, but were those pieces of _meat_? And the portion did seem to be slightly larger than before, but not by much. Donna hoped that was because meat had more calories than soy, and not because of Thirteen wanting to feed them as little as possible. The circle of bread didn’t taste like it had come from a packet, and the tea had some actual colour to it. Donna dug into the food eagerly.

The stew tasted slightly different because of the meat, but it was the increased quantity that really made the difference. Even though there wasn’t enough to really feel full immediately after eating, Donna still felt much better than she had for months. She slowly chewed on the apple, enjoying the sweetness. The sensation of hunger gradually disappeared, not because her stomach had given up on hoping, but because it had decided that this was good enough. It was an amazing feeling. Donna drank the tea and flipped through her sign language textbook, savouring the taste. She actually felt more or less full.

Not being hungry was the best thing ever. Donna had never gone without enough to eat before getting to the Supermax, and she didn’t want to ever experience it again. She felt so much better now! Donna shifted herself to her bed and propped the textbook against her knees. She took the paper with her diary entries out of her bra, unfolded it, hid it in the book, and began to write the entry for the day. She recounted the day’s events and described the dinner. There wasn’t that much room left on the paper. Donna had used the same single sheet for days now, and no matter how small she wrote, there simply wasn’t that much space to write. Hopefully the friendly guard would be coming around soon.

Having hidden the note once again, Donna recorded what had been for dinner on her chart, and began to read the textbook in earnest. She was on the last chapter already. When the request list for library books went around, she’d need to ask for a more advanced textbook. Maybe even a workbook, if administration was willing. 

The sun was beginning to set. Donna finished the lesson and put the textbook, paper, and pen onto the table. Now what? She looked at her stack of books, wondering what to read. Eventually, she decided on a tome of pre-Cataclysm philosophy. There wasn’t that much remaining of that world, but hopefully their ideas would still be helpful. 

She read for several hours, until she could feel her eyes getting tired. Time to sleep. Donna got ready for bed, wishing as she always did that the light could be turned off. As she climbed under the blankets, she wondered when they’d finally get clothes hooks. Would the directors ever stop arguing? Maybe if their Districts did. It was a shame that the country seemed to be coming apart at the seams, and the Districts spent less time in agreement than they did in argument.


	11. Like Children

When Donna woke up, all she felt was the cold. She was curled up in the fetal position, hands jammed between her thighs for warmth. Her toes felt frozen despite the multiple pairs of socks, and when she sat up, the part of the mattress that she had not been lying on felt cold to the touch even through several layers of cloth. Hesitantly, she tossed off the blankets and stood up, feet curling up as soon as they touched the cold floor. The toilet, of course, was nearly cold enough to freeze to skin. When Donna undressed to wash, she shivered, feeling like thousands of icy needles were poking her. 

The burning cold of the water made her heart beat so fast, Donna was afraid it wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. How were the others going to cope with it? She dried herself and the floor with the delightfully warm towel (she _always_ got water on the floor no matter how careful she was), and put the towel back on the radiator, which couldn’t be called ‘hot’ by any standards. Taking the two steps towards the cot, Donna took a clean shirt and underwear from the shelf mounted just to the side of it, and tossed her dirty clothes into the box. She didn’t feel any warmer, though, as the clothes were freezing cold. So was the sweater, and the cap, and the jacket, and the gloves. She didn’t put on her shoes, as their soles were still wet from yesterday and she didn’t want to get the floor dirty.

Donna didn’t bother to make her bed yet, instead wrapping herself in blankets and leaning against the radiator. Her teeth chattered as only a small part of her felt the warmth. No matter how she positioned her hands, she couldn’t hide them fully under the blanket, and her fingers felt like blocks of ice. Why was the heating so bad? The prisoners had complained over and over, but given that the directors had taken months to allow them flimsy clothes hooks and an even flimsier shelf she was almost afraid to breathe on, it was looking like it would be spring before a decision could be reached on how to heat the prison. Although, given that the guards and wardens were also complaining that it was almost as cold in the corridors as it was outside, maybe there was a chance.

The sounds of breakfast appeared, slowly becoming louder. Cringing, Donna tossed off her blankets, shivering violently. She finished straightening them out just as the door unlocked. Donna stepped out of the cell, eager for breakfast and for the letter from family that was going to be arriving today. 

In line to get breakfast, Hope was chewing out Blackstone for complaining about the cold. Blackstone had served in the southern Districts and thus hated the cold; Hope had spent years in Eight and the winter of 74-75 in Twelve.

“You’re lucky you were never assigned to Twelve,” Hope was saying. “This was autumn weather there.” Blackstone had been lucky to never have been assigned to Twelve for a different reason, in Donna’s opinion. The middle-aged Peacekeeper probably wouldn’t have gotten away with a fifteen-year sentence if she had been in the thick of the atrocities that had happened there.

Katz, over whose head Hope was talking, spoke up. “Can you please discuss this when I’m not standing right between you?” she asked, stepping forward as the line moved up.

“Of course,” Hope said coldly. She picked up her tray and moved to the side, waiting to see if the guards would give them any news today. None of the former Peacekeepers ever received mail.

Donna was now at the front of the line. “Letter for Female Nine,” said the guard, holding out a piece of paper. Donna stretched out her hand to take it, but the guard dropped it on the floor. Feeling everyone’s eyes on her, Donna picked up the letter and put it in her pocket. She took her tray and moved away from the cart, fuming. Why did they think that was funny? Generally the guards were nothing but kind, but they could act so childish at times. The warden, a tall and dark woman from Eleven whom Donna had never seen before, gestured for Grass to move forward.

As the line continued to advance, Donna ate her breakfast, trying not to think about how she had been insulted. The oatmeal was slightly sweet, and the slices of canned peach even more so. The peaches were cold, though, as if they had been taken out of the fridge minutes ago. Just eating them made Donna start to shiver anew. The oatmeal also cooled very fast. Most of the women were already making dents in their portions, wanting to enjoy the little warmth they could get.

“Why is everyone standing around?” asked the warden, pulling her scarf up to cover her chin. Everyone backed away slightly, unwilling to be the one to explain. What if the warden disapproved of the blatant rule-breaking? Donna didn’t want to risk punishment, so she stayed silent, eating her rapidly cooling oatmeal.

One of the guards, a stocky woman from Six, spoke up. “Some of the others told them bits of news from time to time,” she said.

The warden surveyed the small crowd. “News, huh?” she asked. Nobody said a word. Donna swallowed a mouthful of oatmeal. “Well, there’s definitely some news that will interest you. Tell Male Twenty-Seven that his boss was sighted in Europe, but managed to evade attempts to locate her.” Stonesmith, the head of the Death Squad, had disappeared during the final phase of the fighting and hadn’t been seen since. “Go back to your cells.”

Carefully holding her tray so the tea didn’t spill (the cup was more full than usual today), Donna walked the short distance back to her cell. The door was left open. After finishing her breakfast, Donna carried the tray back and picked up a broom and dusting cloth. As always when there was a letter to read, she moved faster than normal, but today, she also fumed about the guard who had dropped the letter onto the floor. Wasn’t she aware that this would be the one thing everyone talked about for the next week? Or had it all been on purpose to mess with her? Donna cleaned even faster, hoping that once she was reading the letter, she’d be distracted from her thoughts.

On the way to hand back the cleaning supplies, Strata whispered to her, “How are you going to regain their favour now?” Donna didn’t reply to the former Peacekeeper’s barb, putting back the broom and cloth and walking back to her cell in silence. She took the letter from her pocket and sat down, reading.

 _Dear Mom, I got an A+ on my math test. I made a bunch of little mistakes, though. I guess it’s only the actual mark that counts, but it’s still annoying that I made mistakes I could have easily avoided._ Donna’s eyes darted to the end of the paragraph. Aulus was seven years old, and already a perfectionist. When had this happened? He had never been so concerned about marks before. Taking her brainstorming piece of paper, Donna jotted down that she’d need to tell Aulus to not worry so much about perfect marks.

The other children also reported the academic achievements of the week, except Donna, who just said that nothing interesting had happened. Donna doubted that, but there was nothing she could do about it.

 _We’re all doing fine. My boss has promised me a raise for the New Year, and Cynthia just got one yesterday, so tell Coll so he can worry less about us. I measured the children like you asked. Octavius is 96cm tall, Laelia is 107cm, Aulus is 121cm, Lars is 135cm, and Donna is 165cm._ Donna would need to borrow a ruler so she could draw new markers on the door frame. She couldn’t believe how fast the children were growing. Donna was already taller than both of her parents, if only by a centimetre or two!

 _I know, I can’t believe it either. I must say I am not impressed at being outgrown, haha. Maybe I should grow out my hair, add a centimetre or ten to my height._ Dem had never been particularly bothered about being short, but still, it must be odd for a man to be shorter than his thirteen-year-old daughter. _Your parents hosted a get-together with some acquaintances of your father on Saturday evening, and trying to keep the guests from tripping over the children was a chore._ The get-together had been planned partially by Donna, and it had brought together influential people who would hopefully exert pressure on the government to release her early. _For the dinner we sat Donna with the adults, and some old colleague of yours spent half an hour trying to persuade her to become an engineer. She is standing over my shoulder right now, so I will refrain from writing any more._

 _There is also news about your brother. I ask you to please not overreact._ Donna’s heart clenched with foreboding. _Your mother felt slightly ill on the weekend. It was nothing, she is in perfect health, but she and your father decided to update their wills, as none of our children had even been born when they had written it._ Had it truly been so long ago? _Please, do not take this the wrong way. In fact, I am only telling you this because they’re paranoid and demand you know, as if they’ve one foot in the grave already. They bequeath everything to Alex down to the last silver spoon, but that is only because if something does happen, you simply are unavailable to take care of it, and when push comes to shove, I’m not a blood relative. They promise that if they’re still around once you get out, they will rewrite it again. I know this is going to be a shock to you, and we can discuss this in more detail next month. -Dem :))))))_

Donna was outraged. The house had been promised to her for decades! It was true that she had no need of it and had never given it a thought one way or the other, but she just couldn’t calm down. She seethed with fury. If not for the events of the previous year, her parents wouldn’t have even thought of leaving the house to Alex, they’d rather have left it to the neighbour. The irritation at Alex choked her. So he could be a good boy for half a year and get everything on a silver platter, while she had spent her entire life being the dutiful daughter and lost everything simply due to being _geographically unavailable?_ It wasn’t fair.

Seizing a fresh sheet of paper, Donna began to write her reply.

_Dear everyone, thank you for the letter. I am especially grateful for everyone’s heights. I’ll mark them on my door frame so I can have a frame of reference when I think about you. I am not upset at not being mentioned in the will. It would have been irrational to leave property to someone who is incapable of accessing it, and while I wish you all could have gotten something, it would have been too much to expect my parents to hand anything over to a non-blood relative. Sorry, kids, but your grandparents can be like that. Maybe once Donna’s nineteen they’ll consider her, but for now, tell Alex that if the worst comes to worst, I trust him._

That was it, for now. She’d think of what else to write later. Donna got up from the table and sat down on her cot, taking off her gloves and placing her hands against the radiator. It was very warm against her skin, but not even close to hot. 

There was the sound of doors unlocking. Donna stood up and went to put on her shoes, only then realizing that she should have been putting them on the radiator to dry all along. Sure, it would have gotten it slightly dirty, but that’s what cleaning was for. How could she have not realized that all this time? Her mind must be atrophying. She pulled on her her gloves as she stepped into the corridor and headed towards the door. Theodosius was just stepping out from the door to the men’s wing, and she rushed over to him.

“Good morning,” she said. “Anything new?”

There was no wind today, and the two of them kept their heads up as they began to walk around the enclosed yard. “No,” Theodosius answered. “You?”

“I saw a new warden today. From Eleven. She seems nice enough, gave us a piece of news. And I got my letter.”

“Well, that’s good. What news?” he asked with interest.

Donna had wanted to go to Li first, but he was on the other side of the yard already. The former Death Squad member spent his half-hours outside running, like the Peacekeepers. “Stonesmith was sighted in Europe, but they couldn’t catch her.”

“Li’s not going to be happy,” Theodosius said, watching the man jog around the yard. The Death Squad had all tried to pin their crimes onto the dead and the missing, and especially on Stonesmith, but that had only worked for Li, who had joined very late and had no documents tying him to specific murders. It was a bit ironic that the man who had caused so many people to be terrified every second of their lives was now the one shivering in fear at the name ‘Stonesmith’. He was probably the only one of the lifers who didn’t want to leave the Supermax.

They passed by the trees that they had planted. The saplings looked like they were doing well, but then again, Donna was no expert. “I don’t think even Stonesmith would be able to sneak in here,” she said. “There’s, what, three walls to get through? Four, if she tried to get into the yard?”

“Aren’t two of them just fences?”

“First, they’re electrified, and second, I didn’t even count the checkpoint.”

Theodosius looked shocked. “Wait, there’s two seperate walls, not counting this one?” He pointed to the wall that enclosed the yard.

“I think so?” Donna said, feeling less confident. The guards never directly said what the defenses were, only mentioning one wall or another indirectly. She probably still didn’t have an accurate picture of what the Supermax looked like. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter if there’s three or four or ten walls, there’s no way Stonesmith is getting in, no matter what the media says. Do you think there’s already rumours that she’ll try to free us?”

“I think she’s more likely to want to kill us,” Theodosius pointed out.

Li was approaching, and Donna prepared to call out to him. “Yes, but who knows what the media will say.”

“True. They’ve never been accurate about us.”

“Mr. Li!” Donna said. Li slowed down, jogging on the spot.

“What is it, Mrs. Blues?” he asked, breathing heavily.

There was no better way to say it. “Stonesmith was sighted in Europe but got away.”

Li stopped jogging on the spot, eyes widening in shock. “But- but I thought she was _dead_?” Donna shook her head. Had he truly believed that? “Where exactly was she sighted?” he added in a harsher tone. The stocky middle-aged man seemed to be shrinking, collapsing in on himself.

“The warden just said she was in Europe.”

“Europe is a big place!” Li said irritably. “Do you know nothing else?”

“Nothing,” Donna said apologetically.

“Well, thank you for telling me, Mrs. Blues.” He resumed his jogging at a faster pace than before, as if Stonesmith was already pursuing him and he was trying to outrun her.

Theodosius turned to Donna. “Now we have to hope he doesn’t start seeing Stonesmith out of the corner of his eye.” That had been how the Death Squad had operated. First, they followed you around, making sure they knew your routine. You wouldn’t know you were being spied on, though, not at the beginning. You’d just have an odd feeling that perhaps you’ve seen this person before, or that this person is looking at you strangely. If you were involved in the Rebellion, you’d get suspicious fast, but what could you do? You were stuck. Anyone could be found in less than ten minute, thanks to the network of cameras that dotted the streets. And once you started seeing people following you out of the corner of your eye, that was it. Unless you were very, very lucky.

“If Cras and Avads can hike for a month in the forest in early winter with only one jacket, Li can cope with his hallucinations.” The journalist and officer had been members of the Rebellion who narrowly escaped during the very last purge. The Death Squad had been unable to figure out Avads’ routine as he had been in the Districts for the past year and there hadn’t been enough time to observe him properly, and approached the house when he was getting ready for his morning jog. He leapt out the window and ran, and was already deep in the forest by the time the Death Squad realized that he wasn’t still not home after a night out. There, he collided with Cras, who was out hunting and whom the Death Squad was planning to catch when he came home. The two men ran to Two, got in touch with some people there, and took a train to Six, from where they walked to Thirteen, nearly dying of exposure in the process.

Li was now sprinting back and forth down the path, weaving between others with dazzling agility. “Wait, is he _actually_ worried he might need to outrun Stonesmith?” Donna asked as he leapt over Trotman, who had sat down to fiddle with her shoe, went into a roll, got up, and kept running. The former Peacekeepers were in excellent shape, but Li was simply on another level. 

“Well, the only way to survive is run, right? I guess he’s practicing.” Avads had testified against Krechet, the deputy head of the Death Squad, and also about what he had seen in the Districts as an official journalist, and it had been hard to watch. The journalist had been unable to even look at the man who had nearly murdered him, as Krechet had stalked him during his trip to the Districts and just the sight of him nearly drove Avads to a breakdown multiple times. It made Donna feel sick that she had worked in a government that had done such things to people.

The temperature was getting slightly warmer, but a chilly breeze was now blowing. Fortunately, the path made a sharp turn, and the wind was now at their backs. The two prisoners kept on walking as Donna grasped for something to say.

\--------------

“Everyone with an odd number, in here!” said the warden. Donna and Theodosius obeyed, as did the rest. They filed into the prison gym, looking around. They had never been allowed in here before. What would they be doing? “Sit down!” There were several wooden benches standing next to each other in the middle of the gym. The idea of sitting on them made Donna want to scream, but she sat down nonetheless. She was now between Theodosius and Li, with several former Peacekeepers behind her. A guard, a man from Eight, walked out of a storage room, carrying a large sack and a case.

“Does anyone already know how to crochet?” he asked. Crochet? They were going to be making clothes?

Oldsmith leapt to his feet. “We weren’t sentenced to work,” he stated. “I’m not going to do it.” The warden looked ready to explode, but then Blatt chimed in.

“Exactly,” she said. “You’re breaking your own rules. You can’t force us to work!” Several others jumped to their feet to leave, Donna and Theodosius among them. She had no desire to sit for hours on this hard bench making clothes for someone else!

“Like children,” spat the warden. “Sit down!” she commanded. Donna sat down before she realized what she was doing. “If you act like children, you will be treated like children!” Nobody dared say a word now. Donna stared at the ground, wishing she was anywhere but here. “Now, does anyone here know how to crochet?”

Li and Weiss, one of the younger former Peacekeepers, slowly raised their hands.

“Can you follow this pattern?” asked the warden as she took out a piece of paper and showed it to them. Both nodded, Li with some hesitancy. She handed them the paper and faced everyone again.

“Now, some rules. The hooks will be counted before you leave. If one is missing, nobody leaves until we find it. You may not mention this in letters home. Scissors will only be used under the direct supervision of one of us.” Were they seriously worried they’d manage to kill themselves in front of everyone else? “Pass it around,” she added in a gentler tone to the guard with the bag. He opened it up and began to hand out balls of dark-grey yarn. Donna squeezed hers. It was soft. The hooks were also passed around, and Li and Weiss adroitly tied loops in their yarn and began to crochet. Donna stared in wonder at the chains rapidly forming.

The materials passed out, the guard from Eight put the sack and case onto the floor and faced the prisoners, holding a ball of yarn in his hands. “Everyone except Female Five and Male Twenty-Seven, listen up!” he commanded. “Hold the yarn like this,” he said, making a loop with the end, “and pull it through to make a slipknot. Did everyone get that?” He pulled the loop apart and demonstrated it again. Donna mimicked his motions and got something that looked right. She felt like a lower-class child at a community centre. Her parents would never have allowed her to pursue a hobby that could be monetized, as people in their circle simply didn’t do that. But here she was, learning how to make things.

The guard then walked them through making the stitch, laying the yarn on the hook and pulling the loop over it. It was hard to keep the entire thing from falling off the hook, but Donna got the hang of it pretty quickly. She carefully pulled the loop over, laid the yarn, and pulled it over again. Li and Weiss were somehow doing it without actually moving the loop. They flicked the chain and managed to move just the loop part and not the new yarn. It looked mesmerizing, and Donna felt impossibly clumsy next to them. The guard told them to make a chain that would reach the floor on both sides if they laid it on their lap, sat down on a chair, and got out his own crocheting. The other guards also sat down around them, getting out their textbooks and crosswords.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Donna asked Li.

Li had by now turned his chain into a circle somehow. “I got bored easily when I was on duty,” he said. “Often, I had to watch a place when it was obvious there was nothing to watch. Once, I was in the attic of a craft store, crammed into a corner with Krechet, who had forbidden me from opening my mouth. I picked up a book at random, and got curious.” His fingers seemed to fly faster than the eye could see. “And when my squadmates started asking for hats and stuff, I knew I had to stick with it. I never knew why you Capitolians looked down on working with your hands. It’s fun, and you get useful stuff at the end.”

“Very useful,” Donna said sceptically, looking at her uneven and twisted chain.

“Don’t worry,” Li said. “It’ll straighten up once you start adding more rows, especially with yarn like this.” His own loop looked infinitely better, every stitch the same size. Donna imagined him working in the back of a car as the Death Squad drove to someone’s death.

Theodosius had a chain as long has his hand. “My great-grandmother knew how to knit,” he said, staring at his yarn. “I don’t think this is what she had in mind when she offered to teach me.”

Leaning over Donna, Li looked at Theodosius’ work. “Well, this is crochet in any case, not knitting. Knitting needles make good weapons.” How did he know that? Li went from friendly to terrifying in an instant. “And it’s not too bad. In any case, problems only start when you begin to add more rows.” He turned behind him. “Ms. Weiss!” he whispered. “How do I make the cables? This pattern looks like total nonsense.” Weiss leaned over Strata and began to explain it to him, Donna understanding maybe one word in five.

Watching Li’s movements, she held the yarn firmly against the hook with her last two fingers, gripped the chain with the first two, and pulled the loop over. It worked! She laid down the yarn again, and moved the chain to move the loop. It was so much faster! 

“Oh, so _that’s_ how you do it,” said Theodosius, mimicking her motions. “That makes it so much easier.”

Crocheting was surprisingly easy, Donna decided. The chain grew and grew until it reached the floor on both sides, and she stopped, as the guards had instructed. Stretching out her fingers and grimacing at the pain in her right hand, she looked around the gym. Everyone looked to be making good progress. Li and Weiss, of course, were far ahead of everyone else, which was aided by the fact that they didn’t appear to find the benches uncomfortable. Donna herself was sitting cross-legged and constantly shifting around by now, and Verdant’s leg had to be causing him pain. The former Peacekeeper wasn’t showing any signs of discomfort, but Donna had heard him complain about his leg often enough to know that he simply never showed vulnerability when anyone who hadn’t been a Peacekeeper was in sight. He was sitting up straight and talking with Katz as if without a care in the world.

Out of the corner of her eye, Donna saw the guard from Eight stand up. She turned back around and sat with her feet on the floor. “It appears that all of you are either done or near enough to done,” he said. “Now, I’ll show you how to do single crochet. I’ll show you more stitches later, but for a basic blanket, just single crochet is enough.” Conversation stopped as the guard demonstrated. Put the hook through the second loop from the end, yarn over, pull through one loop, yarn over, pull through both loops, insert hook into next stitch. It was complicated. When Donna got to the end of the row, she’d need to chain one stitch before turning back. Hopefully she wouldn’t forget. It was hard enough remembering if she needed to pull through one loop or both, and it took her a while before she figured out how to smoothly pull through the loops without having to move them with her fingertips.

The yarn kept on slipping and was hard to hold. Donna adjusted her hold, stretching out her right hand which was sore from clutching the hook. She was fairly sure that she was skipping stitches, but it was impossible to tell where one stitch began and another ended. Far from straightening out, the chain began to look more and more twisted. “What’s happening?” she asked Li.

He looked over from his own work which by now was resembling the beginning of a tube. “It’ll take a few rows to straighten out,” he said. “Your chain was really uneven, so the next row is much shorter and makes it curl up on itself. Also, you’re working with the wrong side of the chain,” he said, pointing to a place where she had managed to flip the chain without noticing, “but that’s not really a problem if you’re on the first row.” That was logical. The chain was very thin, but if she twisted it when there were multiple rows, it would be obvious that it was twisted.

“You doing alright?” Theodosius asked her. He had made way more progress than her.

Donna raised her project to eye level, and stared sceptically at the uneven stitches. “Well, they didn’t ask for competence, so I suppose it’s alright,” she said. 

“True.” He leaned over her slightly. “Mr. Li, what are you making?”

Not looking up from his work, Li answered. “A sweater,” he said. 

“Wait a second,” said Donna, “why do they even want us to make sweaters or blankets or whatever else? Are they going to, I don’t know, just undo everything once we’re done and make us do everything all over again? Like the envelopes that they threw out?” The idea made her feel slightly sick, but Li looked to be absolutely horrified by the prospect. He raised his hand, fist punching the air.

“What is it, Male Twenty-Seven?” asked the warden as she approached him.

“What’s going to happen to all this?” he asked, holding up his project. Everyone stopped talking, also wanting to know the answer to the question.

“You will leave the projects here,” said the warden, “and work on them tomorrow. When you’re done, they will be taken and donated to charity anonymously.” Given that everyone would probably write about this in their clandestine notes, Donna doubted it would stay secret for long. Although if this was what they’d be doing until it was time for full-time yard work again, she’d need to warn Dem to not breathe a word about it lest it become common knowledge and lead the administration to force them back to the envelopes. As far as Donna knew, Dem was only sharing the contents of her notes with an old friend of theirs and Donna’s secretary from her Head Engineer days, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure that there was no chance of information getting out. Everyone would probably do likewise, as this was infinitely more enjoyable than the envelopes.

Donna looked at the thin, twisted chain in her lap. Was this really what she was going to spend the next twenty-five winters doing? She wasn’t sure what she thought of that. Pulling loops over the hook, she wondered how much time it would take to finish the blanket. If the administration was that set on making them crochet when they couldn’t work outside, the population of the Supermax would probably end up providing every Community Home in Panem with as many blankets as they needed.


	12. New Year

One advantage of making a blanket was that after a certain point, you could wear it while working on it. Donna’s legs were covered with the warm fabric, and even though flipping it over when starting a new row was a hassle, she was sure that she was much better off than Li, who had only a child-sized sweater on his lap for warmth. On her other side, Theodosius was on the second row of a new blanket. It was already looking much better than the first one.

“How much do you have left?” he asked.

Donna lifted the blanket above her head. It was as long as her with her arms fully outstretched. “A few more rows, maybe?” she said. Folding it so it would be more or less contained in her lap, Donna resumed crocheting. The day was almost over, anyway. Another nice thing about crocheting was that you could tell the time by counting how many rows you had done, and by Donna’s estimates, there was one row left. Stitch by stitch, the end of the day was drawing near. “Did you get a letter today?” she asked, only just remembering that the men would have gotten their letters this morning. 

“Oh, yes,” Theodosius said. “They wrote me a crazy story about how Cynthia and Primus went to the hypermarket at three in the morning-”

“What’s a hypermarket?” asked Strata, who was sitting right behind him.

“What do you mean, what’s a hypermarket?” asked Theodosius, furrowing his eyebrows. “Don’t you have them in Two?”

Strata looked completely lost. “There was a supermarket in Centre, but I’ve never heard of a _hypermarket_.”

“A hypermarket is like a supermarket,” Theodosius explained, “but it also sells clothing, utensils, appliances - things like that.”

Li turned around, not looking up from the sleeve he was working on. “Basically, it sells everything, and it’s always open. You could do all of your shopping in just one hypermarket. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I walked into one for the first time.”

“Anyway,” Donna said, “what happened to Cynthia and Primus?”

“They had to stand in line behind a drunk man who was juggling knives.”

“What?” asked Strata, nearly dropping her blanket. “Is that normal?”

“Yes,” said Li, at the same time that Theodosius said “No.”

Shaking her head, Strata went back to her crochet. “You Capitolians are crazy,” she said. Donna wanted to argue, but a hypermarket at three in the morning was, well, a hypermarket at three in the morning. Not exactly a place where one could expect sanity.

“Wait,” said Li, “Why were your wife and ten-year-old son at the hypermarket at three in the morning, anyway?”

Behind them, a voice added quietly, “So what happened to the man?” Katz had been listening, but now spoke up.

“Cynthia didn’t say. I guess Primus needed something urgently? It was probably something serious that got resolved, so they didn’t want to bother me with it,” said Theodosius as he unraveled several stitches and began to re-do the section. “ And they didn’t say what happened to the man, either. In all likelihood, security got called eventually,” he added, turning around to face Katz. The older woman looked disappointed at the lack of juicy news.

Donna adjusted her grip on the yarn, thinking. Something wasn’t being mentioned here. “If they were coming and going in the middle of the night,” she said, “that means that everyone in the house would have been woken up.” She didn’t want to imagine the chaos that would have ensued.

“Well, they certainly didn’t tell me,” said Theodosius with a shrug, “but I am a hundred percent certain that nobody went back to bed before five. Or maybe they gave up on sleep for the night.”

That sounded like their children. “Donna was probably furious. She so hates being disturbed.”

Li bit through the yarn and knotted off the end of the sleeve. “Like her mother?” he asked in a light tone.

Donna smiled slightly. “Not really. She’s all about maintaining a schedule, while I was always erratic. Although who knows? We’ve been living apart for over two years now.” The second anniversary of her arrest had been a short while ago. It seemed like an eternity had passed since the day the Rebellion soldiers had slapped handcuffs on her for the first time, but no. Only two years. Was that a lot or a little, especially compared with how many years behind bars were ahead of her? Octavius had been barely walking on his own when she had hugged him farewell for the last time, and he was three now. He would be twenty-two when Donna got out.

She realized she was struggling to hold back tears. Gritting her teeth, Donna focused on her crochet, not paying attention to the conversation still going on around her. Insert hook into chain. Yarn over. Draw yarn through loop. Insert hook into chain. Yarn over. Draw yarn through both loops. Insert hook into chain. Over and over. Slowly, she calmed down, and tuned back into the conversation going on around her. Theodosius was by now talking about how he had once been in line behind a woman wearing only a bedsheet, and the former Peacekeepers were following his every word open-mouthed.

“I can’t believe I managed to adapt to the Capitol,” Li said, doing something complicated-looking as he began the other sleeve. “When I got here for the first time, I didn’t even know what to look at! Everything was so colourful, so strange. I liked the colours, though,” he said with a shrug. “Everything in Two’s so drab.”

Strata took offense to that. “No, it wasn’t. It’s the Capitol that’s drab. Was drab. You just saw the bright colours, but there was so much sameness underneath. When I was little in Two, we could stand out, look different from each other, make our own choices.” Strata had stopped crocheting, lost in her thoughts. Nor were Donna’s fingers moving, she was too curious to hear what the former Peacekeeper thought. “When I enlisted, though, it was conformity. No standing out. No independent decisions. Our handbook-”

Theodosius snorted. “Your handbook was about as respected as the Constitution.” There was an article in the Peacekeepers’ handbooks that instructed them to not obey criminal orders. That article had probably been the most ignored rule in Panem, together with the technically existing right to peaceful assembly and laws against corruption.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Strata said, irritated at being interrupted. “I have no idea why they bothered to keep it around. It’s not like the population even knew it existed.” 

“In any case,” Li cut in before the conversation could turn to an argument, “we can all agree that Two and the Capitol were different, right?” Everyone nodded. “When I just got assigned to the Capitol,” he continued his story, “I had to go on duty during the night. I know this is going to sound strange, but I was always afraid of the drunken crowds downtown. Sure, I could have torn any one of them apart with my bare hands, but they were in _mobs_ , and I wasn’t allowed to wear a gun at that point.” Even now, Li shuddered as he thought about it. And Donna had once been afraid of this man overhearing an indiscreet word? 

Still, there was something she could agree with him there. “My husband also always hated those crowds,” she said. “He himself doesn’t drink a drop, so he finds them completely unpredictable.” Donna resumed her crocheting, bunching up the blanket to get access to the end.

“I know,” Theodosius said. “I remember how at social gatherings, he always requested mango-melon juice. I never knew if he was just doing it to confuse everyone.” Donna smiled, remembering Dem’s odd preferences that had grown on her.

“It’s actually really good,” she said, noticing the strange looks the former Peacekeepers were giving. “Lots of sugar, but very tasty.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life,” said Strata, shaking her head. 

Li shrugged, rotating the sweater in his lap. “The Capitol had everything,” he said. “Mango-melon juice is possibly the least weird thing I’ve seen important people consume.” Katz leaned forward again and demanded details, and Li obliged, telling crazy stories he must have gotten from the files the NCIA had kept. Sometimes, it was impossible to overlook who he had been.

A warden stood up several minutes later. “I have an important announcement,” he said. “You will be allowed to receive a parcel for the New Year.”

It was silent in the gym, but Donna heard the majority of the prisoners internally celebrating. So, her family would be able to send her things. What to ask for? Clothing? But would she be allowed to wear something non-regulation? Donna forced herself to listen to the warden instead of speculating.

“The parcel must be five hundred grams or less. You will also be allowed to receive an extra letter, subject to the same rules as always. The contents of the parcel may be confiscated if they are deemed to be unsuitable by the administration. Clothing may be permitted, but it must be dyed regulation grey and marked with your number if necessary.” Donna imagined Dem dyeing one of her old sweaters dark grey and painting a large ‘9’ on the back. Although, weren’t all of her sweaters and such being worn by either Dem or the older children now? She couldn’t ask them to buy her new clothes, not with their financial situation being what it was. “Absolutely no food will be allowed.” There were several guards willing to smuggle it in, though, so Donna wasn’t too worried. “Back to your cells now.”

Everyone stood up, stretching. Donna leaned back as far as she could go, and then leaned forward. The former Peacekeepers looked like they were warming up for a fight. Donna folded the nearly finished blanket and placed it on the bench between Li’s and Theodosius’ projects. She doffed her cap as she passed the warden on the way to the door. “See you tomorrow,” she told Theodosius as the two went in separate directions back to their wings. The ten women with even numbers soon rejoined them, and Song was whispering to Hope about something. 

Donna realized that none of the Peacekeepers would be receiving parcels. They almost never received letters, and she doubted their chances of getting a parcel were any greater. Donna had envied them slightly because they didn’t have to deal with soul-crushing visits and endlessly repetitive letters, but there were benefits to having people who cared about you. Even if it was just the chance at a new sweater. Donna felt herself tearing up again at the thought of her family. What was going on with her? She had barely felt anything on the actual anniversary of her arrest, why was she crying out of nowhere?

As they picked up their dinner, one of the guards spoke up. “The Inter-District Committee has announced that it will not be starting any new trials,” she said, “and will mostly dissolve itself after the processes currently happening are done, except for the administration here. The individuals currently awaiting trial will be handed over to the Capitol authorities.”

_Dissolve_ itself? Did that mean that they were giving up on the trials? And it didn’t seem fair that people would be able to get away with lighter sentences just because the IDC wouldn’t have had the time to deal with them.

“I told you,” Blatt said to Donna. “They can’t indict half the city. The Districts are scattering. They have more important things to worry about.”

More than anything in the world, Donna wanted to throw Blatt’s sentence at her, but that would have made the other woman hate her forever. “The warden said that the trials currently in progress will continue,” she said. “Hardly scattering, if they’re willing to continue working together for the next few years at least.”

Blatt chewed on her bread. “Next few years? Try next few decades. You know what I think? All this loosening just means that their grip on us will get tighter and tighter. If we don’t get out now, we never will. I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to see you leave-” Donna suddenly felt sorry for Blatt, doomed to live out the rest of her life behind bars. She was already sixty, not likely to live much longer after Donna’s sentence was over “-and even if I do, I’ll just exist in here for a little while longer. There’s a lot of us in here for now, and they might be willing to show mercy. But when it’s just the lifers, they’ll be clutching at every opportunity to keep garrisons here.” Donna had already known this, but seeing someone who would be directly affected talk about it was different.

“Hryb’s way more important to them, though,” Donna retorted, trying to make Blatt feel better. “He might live another seventy years if he gets lucky.” The former Gamemaker had recently turned thirty, the youngest prisoner by eight years and youngest lifer - by fifteen.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Blatt said, leaning against her cell door. “The less of us, the lower the chances of getting out. I am absolutely certain that the administration will be willing to keep the Supermax open for just Hryb.”

Swallowing a spoonful of rice, Donna tried to think of something to cheer up Blatt, but it was an undeniable fact that keeping the prison open for one prisoner was definitely something the administration would be willing to do. “Still, there’s four IDC trials in progress right now. That’s plenty of people who will be joining us soon. Some of them are around Hryb’s age.”

“Yes, but _will_ they be joining us?” Blatt asked, pointing her spoon at Donna. “The Gamemaker assistants were also on the young side, but you and Coll are still the second-youngest in here.”

Unsure of what to say, Donna ate some more rice. The vegetables tasted fresh. 

“I don’t understand you,” Blatt said eventually. “Why are you so apathetic about all this? Twenty-five years is a long time, too.”

Was she seriously going there? “I am aware of that, thank you very much,” Donna spat, and marched across the corridor and into her cell. She placed the tray on her table and slammed the door behind her. The conversation outside faded to a quiet murmur as she finished eating her rice. 

No more IDC trials. Not only did that mean that the IDC looked like it was giving up, it was also potentially life-ruining for Donna herself if this indeed meant that the administration would refuse to even consider amnesty for those that it did have in its grip. She glanced at the photo of Dem and the children than they had sent in several weeks ago. Dem had several strands of grey hair running through the black, the younger children had grown so much they were nearly unrecognizable. When Donna got to see her children next, would she even recognize them? When she finally got to embrace Dem, would his hair have gone fully white?

She wiped at her eyes, tears flowing freely now. Seriously, what was going on? Why specifically today, all of a sudden? She hadn’t been so randomly emotional since her teenage years. Donna got up from the table and stood next to the toilet, where the guards wouldn’t be able to see her as well. Jamming herself against the dark-grey wall, Donna cried for the first time since arriving to the Supermax, unable to banish the image of long-grown children she couldn’t recognize from her mind.

\-------------

Despite the fact that it was New Year’s Eve, the prisoners still had to work. In the morning, Donna and Theodosius, Hryb, and some of the former Peacekeepers had worked together in the yard, making benches out of a small pile of bricks and planks. The friendly guard had used the near-solitude to pass her a packet of small cookies from Dem that Donna was going to hand out to the others, as they had been promised that they’d get an hour in the gym to socialize. For now, however, Donna was mopping the corridor in the basement with four former Peacekeepers, as freezing rain was falling outside.

“I wonder what time it is,” said Stone for the tenth time that afternoon. Nobody answered. Longview, Weiss, and Prill shot him irritated looks. The two guards at the end of the corridor glanced at their communicuffs, also clearly eager for the day to end, but didn’t say what the time was.

“If we finish early, do you think they’ll let us go early?” Prill whispered to Donna. Donna barely knew the fifty-one-year-old former Peacekeeper. It seemed strange to her sometimes that she could spend nearly a year living with these people and know nothing about them.

Squeezing out the mop, Donna shook her head. “They’ll probably send us back to crocheting,” she whispered back, fairly sure that the guards could hear every word regardless. Most of their days were spent on their blankets (or sweaters for Weiss and Li), with only the occasional morning or afternoon spent cleaning or doing some other job around the prison.

“Let’s not go so fast, then,” said Prill. “I don’t want to go back to sitting.” His movements, already not very quick, became downright slow. Donna hadn’t been rushing either, but she slowed down as well, even though she didn’t care as much about what they did. It was the Peacekeepers who were the most concerned about being active and staying in shape. Donna herself had never particularly worried about that kind of stuff, but even she had to recognize that sitting on a bench all day wasn’t enjoyable.

“True.” Donna said, trying to fill up the silence.

Weiss walked over and dipped her mop into the bucket. “Didn’t you have a desk job?” she asked Prill. “I’d have thought that you’d be used to it.” Donna doubted that was entirely accurate, as the Peacekeepers who had committed atrocities from behind a desk hadn’t tended to survive their trials. She wracked her brain, trying to remember where Prill had served. Eight and Eleven? That seemed right, but half of the former Peacekeepers had served in Eight and/or Eleven, so it wasn’t much of a guess.

“Only for a few months,” Prill explained in an exasperated tone, ”as I’m sure you know.” Since Donna didn’t know, the evasive answer irritated her. 

“Can we _please_ not talk about the past?” asked Stone.

“Then what are we supposed to talk about?” asked Weiss. “The present?”

Stone shrugged. “There’s got to be something better than just talking about our lives over and over. Mrs. Blues, could you maybe tell us a story about your children?”

“Technically, that’s still the past,” Weiss said, mopping a section of the floor around her. 

“You know what I mean.” Stone was insistent.

Donna wasn’t so sure about the idea. Tell stories about her children? Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t spent that much time with them, especially after her promotion to Head. “What kind of stories?” she asked.

“What’s it like being a parent?” asked Longview awkwardly, trying to hide behind his mop. “I’ve always wanted to become one after serving my tour but - well.” He gestured to the corridor they were in.

What was it like being a parent? Donna had been one for so long, she could hardly recall what it felt like to not be one. “Um, it’s - normal?” she began, trying to find words. “It was kind of a shock at the beginning, when I’d look at my daughter and think, ‘Wow, I made this’. It’s definitely an adjustment, realizing that now, the most important person in your life isn’t you.” The former Peacekeepers were standing still, hanging onto every word. Even the guards looked up from their books. Feeling slightly awkward, Donna continued. “Um, is there anything specific you want to know?”

“I just want to know more about life in the Capitol,” said Longview. “Like, how do you celebrate New Year’s?”

Donna leaned against the wall, thinking. New Year’s? When had she last spent New Year’s with her family? “I haven’t celebrated New Year’s with my family for...six years now?” Last year had been the trial, the four previous years she had been Head and spent the entire winter on location, and the year before that she had been requested to stay by the Head Gamemaker himself to supervise the blasting of a tunnel, and one didn’t refuse such requests. “Sometimes I wouldn’t even be able to call them until the next morning.”

Stone nodded. “I remember in 70, we stayed up all night with that tunnel. I can’t imagine what it was like for the engineers. It was bad enough for me because I was falling over from exhaustion.”

“You were there?” Donna asked. She didn’t remember Stone, but then again, he hadn’t even been a Head of an on-location unit, merely the best enforcer of all of them put together.

Stone nodded again. “Anyway, so how did you talk to your family from on location?”

“Videocall,” she answered. “I just used my phone.”

“We didn’t have that back in Two,” Weiss said. “Or anywhere I served.”

At that, Stone rolled his eyes. “If it wasn’t in Two, it certainly wasn’t going to be in Nine. Or Twelve.” Stone wasn’t wrong there. The differences in technology in the Districts had been so vast as to be inhumane. The only telephones in Twelve had been in the Justice Building, the mayor’s house, and Victor’s Village, and they had been clunky, landline models. It was hard to believe that they had served the same function as Donna’s cell phone, which had fit into the palm of her hand.

“In any case,” Donna said, “what else do you want to know about my family?”

\------------------

After dinner, which had been the same as always, the prisoners were led to the gym, where they would be allowed to pick up their parcels and talk to each other for an hour. Officially, this was supposed to be a relaxation of the silence rule due to the special occasion, but since nobody ever bothered to uphold the rule, it was just an hour with no work and everyone gathered together.

Donna immediately went to seek out Theodosius. She wanted to give him a cookie first. Noticing him standing in a corner and talking with Li, Donna made sure that the packet in her pocket was open and walked over to them.

“Hello,” she said, positioning herself in a way that would make it harder for the guards to see her. Making sure that none were looking in her direction, she quickly placed a cookie in the pocket of each man. “Happy New Year!”

“Thank you?” Li said, puzzled. “Why are you giving me this?”

“My husband sent them to me,” Donna said. 

Theodosius cut in. “Well, tell him he is amazing,” he whispered, keeping an eye on all the guards at once. Despite the fact that all forty-seven prisoners were in the gym, only five of the twenty-four guards who were stationed inside the prison proper were keeping watch over them. The perimeter guards, of course, rarely entered the territory outside of coming and going to their guard towers or posts.

“Do you think the guards are going to celebrate?” Donna asked, watching the sympathetic guard talk with the warden from Two, a short man. She still hadn’t figured out why certain guards became wardens or what that even meant here. Their duties seemed to be exactly the same, unlike in jail, where only the wardens actually interacted with them.

Li turned towards the wall and shoved the cookie in his mouth in a lightning-quick motion. “I doubt it,” he said around a mouthful of crumbs. “They still have to go on their shifts, after all.”

Someone reached a hand into Donna’s pocket, and she had to control herself to not react. The guards weren’t very attentive, but she didn’t want to draw notice regardless. She turned around slowly, waving at Stone, who was crossing his arms on his chest.

“Happy New Year, everyone,” he said. 

“There’s still hours until midnight,” Li retorted.

“Well, we won’t be talking to each other at midnight, so I’ll just say it now,” Stone said, arms back at his sides. “When are we getting our presents?” he added in an almost pleading tone Donna mostly associated with her younger children. Theodosius walked off and began to talk to Grass and Ledge.

When _would_ the parcels be handed out? “I don’t know,” Donna said. Who would be sending Stone parcels, anyway? The former Peacekeeper had bounced around from location to location, never having enough time to get close to anyone. As far as Donna knew, he never received visitors or even letters.

Another hand reached into her pocket, grabbing a cookie. That repeated for the better part of an hour as Donna handed cookies to some and others helped themselves to the contents of her pocket. Some of her fellow prisoners were grateful, others just confused. Donna had a deep suspicion that the guards were aware of what was happening, but since they didn’t do anything, that had to mean that either they hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care.

“Line up in front of me!” commanded the warden from Two. Donna headed for the middle, as she was seventeenth. It was odd to have the elderly Aslanov standing between her and Hope, as Donna was used to the queues at mealtimes where the two women were one after the other. The line moved quickly, as the prisoners were handed a parcel if they got one and an orange, and were sent to their cells. Donna was disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to potentially exchange gifts, but there was always later, and she didn’t want half the former Peacekeepers glaring at her because she had people who cared about her and they didn’t for the most part. Aslanov got something, which was a surprise to her. Who was the sender? His friends from Command were more likely to be receiving parcels than sending them, but who knew. 

Eagerly, Donna took her parcel and orange and walked back to her cell. The corridor was mostly deserted, lined with guards at regular intervals. She had no choice but to head in the direction of her wing. Donna didn’t bother to talk to anyone, practically running to her cell and shutting the door behind her. 

The parcel was wrapped in paper and thin string. Donna didn’t bother trying to open it neatly, as the guards would get suspicious if the paper disappeared. She tore it open, revealing a pair of thin canvas shoes. Grinning madly, she held them in her hands. Now, she had two pairs of footwear! Donna held up one shoe, inspecting it closely, feeling the fabric with two fingers. This had just solved two of her main problems. Now, if it was raining outside, she could change her shoes and go work without having to sit with wet feet. And when the weather warmed up, she’d have more temperature-appropriate footwear. Smile making her face hurt, Donna placed the shoes under the cot.

Besides the shoes, the parcel also contained two pairs of socks and a pair of gloves, all dyed regulation grey. The socks went on the clothes shelf, and the gloves - into the pockets of her jacket. She’d keep the gloves she had been issued with, of course. What if it became cold enough to need to wear both at once, or one pair got wet? She turned back around on her chair, beholding the orange.

It was a bit surreal to receive a present from the administration. How many people in the country wouldn’t be getting anything? Probably quite many. Despite rationing officially being over, the amount of people still struggling was probably in the hundreds of thousands, and here she was, getting a present. It wasn’t just an orange, Donna decided as she brought the fruit to her face to smell it. It was a symbol. You didn’t just gift people food for no reason, especially not something like an orange. She carefully peeled the fruit, fingers remembering exactly where to dig at the peel despite not having eaten oranges for over two years. Who did she have to thank for this? Had her notes to old acquaintances played a role?

Chewing a slice of the sweet fruit, Donna contemplated the question. What sort of forces would have been able to persuade the administration to give extra food to the prisoners? Nothing came to mind. What sort of forces would be able to persuade the administration to do anything they didn’t want to do? Now that was an easier question to answer. If all the District governments all wanted something, the administration would do it, as everyone in it was an extension of their District’s will. However, it didn’t seem likely that they’d want the conditions in the Supermax to be relaxed. Donna ate another slice, squeezing out the juice with her tongue and savouring the taste. The federal government? Same problem, and they still would have needed the consent of the IDC, and thus, the Districts. That meant the notes hadn’t played a role, most likely. Who else had clout? The Victors? They were the last people who’d want the inhabitants of the Supermax to have an easier life.

What about inside the prison? Donna had a flash of realization. The psychologists and psychiatrists from the medical staff must have argued that being able to celebrate New Year’s was important for maintaining mental health. After all, Dr. Aurelius had practically single-handedly made conditions in jail tolerable during the lead-up to the trial, so it was quite possible that he was still fighting for improved conditions.

Problem solved, Donna slowly ate the rest of the orange as she wrote her diary entry for the day. She hid the note and picked up her sign language textbook. She was going to stay up until midnight, to see in the New Year. While she wouldn’t be raising glasses of mango-melon juice with her family, at least it would be something.

\----------------------------------

Donna jumped, nearly dropping the book, as the fireworks began. She put it on the table and stood up on her cot, trying to see out of the window better. Standing on tiptoe, she was able to make out some multicoloured flashes of light for a few seconds. The outskirts of the Capitol had always been a popular place to set off fireworks.

Another far-away sound of explosions, another flower made of bright-blue sparks bloomed in the sky. It was joined by a green rain, a sea of glowing embers. So beautiful. Donna pulled herself up on the window handle, careful not to rip it off entirely, trying to see better. She was lost in the ephemeral creations. 

It was the year 78 now, Donna thought as she sat back down in bed eventually. But what did that even mean? For her, the real “new year” would be on the day that marked a year since her sentencing, a year closer to getting out. January 1 was just a meaningless date. Even the holiday had been taken from her! Suddenly irritated by the sound of fireworks outside, Donna curled up under her blankets, trying to ignore the noise. It took her a while to fall asleep.


	13. Anticipate Nothing

They finished a lap of the yard, and Theodosius moved a pebble from his left pocket to his right. 

“What are you doing?” asked Kim, who was walking with them today. Her cap was pulled as low as it could go, partially hiding her eyes, and she had to tilt her head back to look at them.

“Counting laps,” Theodosius said. He kept a record of how much he walked. Donna had never asked him how many laps he had done, but it was probably a lot. An hour every day for nearly a year added up. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, feeling at the paper in one of them. When just starting the walk, Donna had noticed a piece of a label from a paint can lying on the ground, and had picked it up to use for her clandestine notes.

Hope ran by them, and Donna watched her enviously. Donna had done cross-country back in school, but now, she doubted she could run as much as a lap. “I can’t believe I’m in worse shape than someone twenty years older than me,” Kim said, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Kim,” Theodosius said. “You can always start now, after all.”

Kim shrugged, pushing her cap back and looking around the yard. “That’s true,” she said. “And I suppose it could be worse,” she added, gesturing to Townsend, who was lying on a bench a few metres in front of them. 

For a second, Donna was seized by panic, until she realized that Townsend was breathing. Relieved but still concerned, she approached the former deputy head of Victors’ Affairs. He appeared to be asleep, but then his eyes opened.

“Ugh,” he said, and closed his eyes again.

“Do you need help?” Theodosius asked anxiously. 

Townsend slowly sat up, hiding his hands in his sleeves. He had been undergoing chemotherapy for months already, but he appeared to be deteriorating much faster now. Before, he had always returned from his stays in the infirmary looking sick, but not terribly so. Now, gaunt, bald, and emaciated, he looked like he was dying. Although, _wasn’t_ he actually dying? Months ago, he had said that he had a ten percent chance of survival, but for what amount of time? A year? Two years? Six months? This wasn’t the kind of question one could ask someone they were on a last-name basis with.

“Should we get someone?” Donna added. Townsend still didn’t reply. He lay back down on the bench, swearing quietly.

“I’m alright,” he said in a tone that clearly indicated that nothing was alright.

Sceptically, Donna raised her eyebrows. “You don’t sound like it. Can you stand up?”

There was a pause as Townsend considered the question. Theodosius took it as an answer and ran off to tell a guard. Donna sat down on the bench next to Townsend as the older man slowly sat up again, clutching at the bench for support. Donna wished she had added a back to the bench instead of using the limited supply of wood to make more benches, as there was nothing for the man to lean against. Townsend sagged down, head between his knees.

“I’m tired,” he said, clutching at his head. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore!”

Donna had no idea how to react. She had spent time with dying relatives before, but not when they were suffering like that. Fortunately, she saw several guards running down the path. She and Kim stepped away from the bench, unsure of what to say to Townsend, and waited for Theodosius to catch back up.

“Will he be alright?” Kim asked the guards. They did not reply, helping Townsend to his feet and walking off with him.

“It’s unlikely,” Donna answered instead. “He told me there’s a ten percent chance.”

“Yes, but for what amount of time?”

Donna shrugged. “I was wondering the same thing. Does it really matter?”

Kim didn’t answer, pulling her cap lower on her face and watching Theodosius walk towards them instead. “Do you think they’ll release him? If only so he can die at home?” she eventually asked.

Given that Kim had four years and a few months left here, Donna was not inclined to take the question in good faith. “I doubt it,” she said, restraining her emotions. “Too much noise was made about how the only way for us to leave is to serve our sentence out, or die.”

“Maybe in a decade or two, when everyone’s more calm,” Theodosius added. 

“That’s not going to help Townsend,” Kim said. “And I don’t think they’ll soften up with time. At least now, they have the trials to distract them.”

“That is true,” Theodosius said. Despite logic dictating that the administration’s grip would only tighten as the amount of prisoners shrank, the allure of outlasting public memory was too strong. It was foolish, though. The IDC, or whatever would remain of them once the trials wrapped up, were not the public, and neither were they beholden to public opinion.

“But for how long?” Donna asked. “The Steelworks trial just ended. How much time are the rest going to take?” There were several trials of leading industrialists in progress, but they were all drawing to a conclusion. Donna wondered if the Steelworks trial would set a pattern for the rest of them. The highest-ranked executives had been sentenced to death, following in the steps of the DIstrict-based middle managers who had been tried in the Districts where they had squeezed every drop of profit out of the low wages and murderous working conditions. People all over the country were saying that it was unfair that the middle managers died while Donna lived. Donna couldn’t think of any counterarguments to that.

“...a year,” Theodosius said. Donna snapped out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked.

“The trials should be over in a year,” he repeated.

“I think so, too,” said Kim. “Unless the Ministries trial drags on for longer than expected. How many defendants are there? Thirty-something?”

Smith skipped by, humming _The Hanging Tree_. Donna stopped in her tracks to watch the other woman pass by. Was she actually insane, or trying to mess with the administration? A month in total solitary was enough to break anyone, but Donna had no idea what skipping around the yard had to do with anything. The singing at least made sense, as Smith had sung constantly while locked up. Although, Donna didn’t know much about stuff like this. Maybe erratic behaviour in general was normal after extreme isolation.

“Do you think there’s actually something wrong with her?” Donna asked Theodosius and Kim, gesturing at Smith, who skipped away as if nothing around her existed.

Kim pushed her cap back on her head, observing the woman. “Well, she’s clearly not acting in a predictable manner,” she said.

“She’s completely predictable,” argued Theodosius. “Yes, her behaviour is abnormal, but it is consistent. There’s a difference.”

“Abnormal compared to whom? Us?” Kim’s tone clearly indicated what she thought of their mental states. Donna snorted. If someone was abnormal by the standards of the Supermax, then there must have been something seriously wrong with them. While Smith would probably have been unable to function in society, she was still capable of functioning in the Supermax, as she could still follow instructions and take care of herself. Donna said as much.

Pulling her cap forward, Kim shook her head angrily. “She woke me up with her singing last night!”

What? But Kim was only a few cells closer to Smith than Donna! Wouldn’t everyone else have been woken up as well, resulting in complaints at breakfast? “I didn’t hear anything,” Donna said as Theodosius stared in horrified fascination.

“I was the only one,” Kim said bitterly. “I’ve got insomnia, even the sound of guards walking wakes me up sometimes.”

Theodosius shook his head. “Is this normal?”

“But I’ve never heard her sing in the evenings!” Donna continued. How could things be happening right under her nose?

Kim threw her hands in the air. “She doesn’t sing in the evenings!” she said. “I think she sings right before going to bed, which, as far as I can tell from the patrols, is way past midnight.” The guards patrolled the corridors at the exact same times each night; Donna vaguely knew the schedule. Since she herself slept for eight to ten hours each night, it wasn’t something she constantly dealt with.

“And I thought that nobody would be woken in the middle of the night once Verdant was transferred to the infirmary,” Theodosius said, moving a pebble from one pocket to the other. This year, Verdant had been moved there as soon as his headaches had started, and wasn’t back yet. “Can’t you just ask for sleeping pills?”

“I’m not allowed them,” Kim said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I used to be dependent on them, so they just banned me from sleeping aids. Right when I was being interrogated every day.” That must have been terrible. “I’m a bit better now, though. It takes me hours to fall asleep, but I can just go to bed early and end up sleeping at a reasonable time. The problem’s that I wake up very easily.” She readjusted her cap again.

\--------------

That evening, Donna was struggling with a high-difficulty sudoku when the door opened. She stood up, doffing her cap and tossing her book aside. Another search? No, the person walking in was a woman in civilian clothes. Donna blinked, taking in the sight. For nearly two years now, she had only seen people in civilian clothing on the other side of the glass barrier. The woman seemed strange for that reason, even though she was completely normal otherwise. She looked to be around Donna’s age, maybe a little bit older, and appeared to be from Eleven or perhaps the Capitol, dark-skinned and dark-eyed. 

Her clothes, however, looked out of place in the cell. Donna gestured at her to sit down on the chair, and sat back down on the bed, putting her cap back on. The woman wore a light-grey suit and a brightly coloured kerchief that stood out starkly against the cell walls, and held a large purse. “Hello,” she said. 

“Hello,” Donna said cautiously. “Who are you?” The only person Donna could think of who would be visiting her would have been a lawyer, but surely the administration wouldn’t let a lawyer into her _cell_! And in any case, she was still technically the client of Dr. Fisher, even if he was now busy with someone else.

“My name is Sawan Chu,” she said, “and I am a psychologist.” 

A psychologist? Donna was baffled, as she hadn’t asked to see one. “Are you from the administration?” she asked, wondering what Chu was doing here. Were they worried about the mental state of everyone? Surely Donna wasn’t high up on the list of people who needed therapy.

Digging through her purse, Chu answered. “Yes,” she said, taking out a clipboard. Donna groaned internally. Had the notes Dr. Aurelius and Dr. Mallow had taken not been enough? “The directors have been worried about your mental health, especially with new prisoners arriving in a week or so.” What did that have to do with anything? “I’ve been assigned to you and a few others. I will not tell you their names, nor will I reveal your name to them.”

At least there was that, but the thought of people on the outside once again finding out what she thought was an unpleasant prospect. “But how do you know I will be honest?” Donna asked, not seeing the point of being evasive. “If I wanted to criticize the administration, I wouldn’t do so to you.”

Chu took out a small ball from her purse. “Everything you say will be confidential until and if only you give consent for me to publish my notes,” she said. “I will only warn the administration if I believe you are in danger of attempting suicide or may require medication for a mental illness.” She gave the ball to Donna. “Some people find it easier to speak when they have something to fidget with. I know you crochet, but I don’t have the authority to supervise you.”

The ball was a thin stretchy casing filled with little balls of clear rubber, a slightly viscous transparent liquid, and blue glitter. Donna squeezed it a few times. It felt satisfying. “Alright,” she said, still doubting the confidentiality, but willing to go along with it for the sake of being able to talk to a professional. She had wanted to get therapy when suffering from extreme stress in her first year as Head Engineer, but had eventually decided against it, knowing that the therapist would have been bribed by someone into revealing her secrets. Now, at least, there was no danger of that. “What do I talk about?”

“Anything that comes to mind.” Chu said. Donna felt foolish. She had heard of ordinary criminals receiving counseling in prison, but it was hard to reconcile her own situation with the idea. But then again, she _was_ a criminal, and she _would_ be getting out eventually, no matter how unpleasant the thought was. It made sense, if Donna forced herself to view the situation in those terms. However, she still couldn’t think of what to say. Nothing seemed appropriate.

Donna played with the ball, squeezing a corner until she could clearly make out one of the little balls. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “Can’t you just tell me what to say?”

Chu wrote something on the clipboard. Donna groaned out loud. 

“Would you prefer it if I didn’t write things down?” the psychologist asked, concern evident in her voice.

Imagining Chu recording the conversation on audio instead, Donna shuddered internally. “Oh, no, no, I don’t mind it,” she rushed to assuage the psychologist. Chu nodded and continued to write. There was an awkward pause. Donna played with the ball, squeezing it and making it take different shapes. “Can you _please_ tell me what to say?”

“Very well,” said Chu, voice still casual. “You and Theodosius Coll are the only two prisoners who are on a first-name basis with each other. Could you please tell me how that happened?”

Donna blinked, taken aback. “You know the full story already!” There was no way that Chu and the rest of the medical staff hadn’t studied the notes made on her in jail.

Chu smiled. “Yes, but I would like to hear it in your own words.”

That seemed like a reasonable request. Donna tossed the ball in the air, trying to figure out where to start. “Well, it happened after I took responsibility for the Games. He had been planning to do something similar, and I guess he was happy that someone else agreed with him?” She had never thought about it before from that angle.

“What motivated you to take responsibility?”

Donna stopped playing with the ball. She took off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the cot. “What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “I must have explained it to Dr. Aurelius fifty times.”

Chu’s voice was kind, but Donna felt like she was facing an interrogator again. “You were in a very different mental state then,” she said. “I would like to know how you perceive your past now.” Once again, that seemed perfectly reasonable. Would Chu force her to dig through her entire past?

“How do you think I perceive it?” Donna asked the ball, which was lying on the cot next to her. She hugged her knees with her arms, picking up the ball and squeezing it. “I don’t know if it makes sense now,” she said, unsure of what she was saying. “You know, I thought I was going to die.” Of course, Chu knew that, but Donna had only been able to tell these thoughts to paper before. 

“And how does it feel now that you know you will live?”

Donna had no answer to that. She played with the ball, linking her thumb and forefinger and pushing it through. “I don’t know,” she said.

“May I be honest with you?” Chu asked? Donna nodded. “You are, perhaps, the most blame-worthy out of all the prisoners here. Not only for your role in the last phase of the fighting, but also because out of everyone who worked directly on the Games, you were the only one to repudiate them.” Well, she couldn’t argue with that.

“You’re saying I should have known better,” Donna said with a sigh. She flattened the ball, rolling the little rubber spheres between her fingers.

“No,” said Chu kindly. “You _did_ know better, according to what you said. So why hadn’t you _done_ better?”

Donna did not answer. What was there to say?

Chu continued. “I am not expecting an answer right now.”

“Good,” Donna said, “as I do not think I am capable of providing one. Now, or ever.”

“Never?” asked Chu. How could the woman sound so non-judgemental and matter-of-fact? Was this something mental health professionals had to take a course in at university?

“What difference does it make?” Donna spat. “I can’t change the past. I certainly can’t change the present. My sentence is just, I will serve it, and then - well, it’s not like anyone’s life will be made better by my words.” She stared at her hands, fiddling with the ball.

“You cannot change the present, but you _will_ have years in which you can make your own decisions.”

Why was the psychologist so concerned, anyway? This was going way beyond professional curiosity. “Yes, but this will always hang over me.” She gestured at the cell. “Rightfully,” she rushed to assuage the psychologist, “but it’s not like I can erase the past just by saying or doing something.”

“Yes,” said Chu, “this will hang over you, but how will you deal with it?”

Donna felt an impotent rage. “I’ve got over twenty-four years until I have to worry about that.” The cell seemed to shrink around her, walls pressing in. She squeezed the ball with both hands, digging her thumbs in.

“And how will you spend these twenty-four years?”

What kind of a question was that? “Look, while I would be very happy if you could help me turn into a different person, I do not think that is an option for me. It’s always with me. I remember those testimonies by heart. The images never go away.” Tears of fury and shame stung at Donna’s eyes as she kneaded the ball. “Of course, I wish-” She broke off, unsure of what she was saying.

Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “I think that there is something you do not understand,” she said. “Your sentence is finite. The judges decided that you should walk free one day. Does that not tell you anything?” Why couldn’t the psychologist just say things outright?

“Just because I won’t be in here doesn’t mean I will be able to stop paying for my crimes,” Donna said, getting the hint. “After all, there is no statute of limitations for crimes against humanity.” She wiped at her face, wishing she was anywhere but here. What a sight - a crying mass murderer! 

“The statute of limitations sets the maximum time after which a crime can be prosecuted. We’re way beyond that stage here,” Chu said with a smile. Donna also smiled weakly. “May I be honest with you again?” Donna nodded, smile slipping away. “You are one of the two key criminals who will walk free again.” How sure was she of this? “What will you do with yourself then?”

“What _can_ I do?” Donna stretched out the ball. “What?” she repeated, feeling desperate. “I do not understand, what do you expect from me?” She uncurled herself, stretching her legs so they hung off the side of the cot. 

Chu shook her head slightly. “The question is, what do you expect from yourself?”

Donna curled back up again. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Is it even appropriate for me to want to achieve something?” Chu said nothing, waiting. “I wish I never took that promotion. What a colossal waste. But then again, would anything have made me do so back then?” Chu wrote something down, not saying a word. “Look, aren’t you supposed to be helping me?” Donna snapped. Why was the psychologist so quiet all of a sudden?

“You want my help?”

“I _need_ your help!” Donna said, squeezing the ball in a fist. “Can’t you, I don’t know, tell me what to do?”

Tapping her pen, Chu watched Donna with perceptive eyes. “I certainly cannot tell you what to do,” she said, “but I can help you get your thoughts in order.”

“How long are you going to be here for?” Donna asked. 

“Until your release.”

That was simultaneously welcome and terrifying. If Chu had nothing better to do with her life, that said something about her family, or the likely absence thereof. “You will work here for that long?”

Chu nodded, adjusting her kerchief. “Yes,” she said simply. “I will visit you every week.” Donna felt awed by the commitment Chu was making. Tying yourself to a client for decades demanded respect.

“Where are you from?”

“I was born and raised in Eleven, escaped to Thirteen when I was in my late teens.” Donna had guessed at that before, but it was still awkward. This woman had suffered because of her and the government she had served, but was still professional and kind.

“That must have been terrifying,” Donna said.

Chu wrote something on her clipboard. “It was,” she said. “Now, there is something I would like to get your opinion on,” she added, changing the topic. Donna nodded. “I have notes from Dr. Aurelius here. You said that you wouldn’t have faulted the Rebellion for hanging you and the rest of your co-defendants from the lampposts-”

“That was after the eyeless child testified!” Donna cried, remembering that phrase well. “How else could I have felt? When they read from the documents, it was easy to think ‘Well, I had nothing to do with that’ or ‘I never realized it was that bad’. But when they brought in the witnesses, it was different. Even if they weren’t testifying against me, it always felt like they were accusing me personally. Even if nothing they said had anything to do with me.” Chu’s pen raced across her clipboard. “You must have been there, too, or at least read the transcripts later. What the witnesses said - I still marvel, how did they hold back from executing us then and there? Where did that restraint come from? How did they know how to do things when the only examples they ever got were the exact opposite?” For seventy-five years, McCollum and then Snow had ruled with iron fists, crushing any opposition and treating the Districts with nothing but cruelty. Shouldn’t any vestige of compassion within anyone have been long destroyed?

“I was present at the trial on that day, yes,” Chu said.

Squeezing the ball, Donna nodded. “Then you know what I’m talking about. I remember in the last days of the fighting, we all knew that revenge was coming.” It had taken months until Donna had realized that the trial would be fair. Dramatic promises to stay the hand of vengeance had been impossible to believe for a long, long time. “This is going to sound crazy, but I thought that I’d prefer to hang from a lamppost than be dragged off by Thirteen for who knows what. We all knew what we had done, after all. The witnesses just made it more immediate, impossible to ignore.”

“But you still chose to plead ‘not guilty’.”

“Of course I didn’t plead guilty! They tried to pin things on me I had had nothing to do with!”

Chu wrote something down.

“Do you...not believe me?” Donna asked warily.

Tapping her pen, Chu studied Donna. “You yourself said that your sentence is just.”

“My sentence,” Donna said. “Not my indictment. They made some mistakes there, but I suppose it’s the job of the court to figure that out. Since they did, I have no complaints.” She shrugged, kneading the ball. The little transparent spheres were slightly different sizes, Donna realized. Chu said nothing. Since Donna wasn’t sure what else to say, she waited for the psychologist to speak up.

“What ‘mistakes’?” she asked eventually. “Do you mean being charged on Count One?” Donna had been accused of _planning_ the Games, even though her work had only begun when an approximate site had been chosen. “Or is there something else?”

“You mean the District labourers,” Donna said accusingly. “I stand by what I said. I should have realized what kind of lives they had back home. I just refused to believe the rumours.”

Chu wrote something down. Donna imagined the rest of the medical staff and the directors poring over the notes. And wasn’t Dr. Aurelius going to publish his own notes at some point soon? He and Dr. Mallow the psychiatrist had never concealed that they would be releasing their notes to the world eventually. Good thing the administration wouldn’t let her receive the messages that would undoubtedly be coming her way. But what about Dem? He was probably getting bombarded with e-mails and phone calls and anonymous letters already, and any interest in the Supermax from the general public would result in an uptick. 

“What are you thinking about?” Chu asked. Donna started, realizing that she was staring into space and kneading the ball in her right hand.

“I’m wondering how my husband’s dealing with the threatening messages he’s undoubtedly receiving,” she said.

“How do you think he’s dealing with them?” Donna would have preferred to not be interrogated about her personal life, but the allure of being able to talk about it to someone was too strong to resist. There were things you could tell your psychologist you couldn’t tell your friend.

Donna thought about the question. “I don’t know,” she said. “This isn’t something that has ever happened to us. I doubt he’s letting them bother him, though.”

“Would you say that he’s an unflappable sort of person?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Donna said, smiling. “Nothing ever makes him lose his temper. I’m glad the children have him. No matter what happened, he was always calm and collected.”

“Can you provide some examples?” Chu asked, tapping her pen.

“There’s too many to list,” Donna said. What was she supposed to start with? Those days in university when she had hidden in the library in the middle of the night from the fighting back home, and he was always there? Or when he had sat alone with the children for months at a time without a single complaint while Donna was on location?

For the rest of the session, Chu pulled all sorts of stories out of Donna. She wasn’t sure what the point of it was, but it was a relief to be able to talk to someone freely. Not even with Theodosius she could be so open. When Chu finally bid her a good night and left, taking the ball with her, Donna went back to the sudoku she had been working on, feeling better than she had in a long time, but still slightly worried.

What did the psychologist want from her? All that talking about life after prison just made Donna feel anxious now that she was alone without the squishy ball. She didn’t want to look forward to something that was _decades_ away. It had felt alright to talk to Chu, but she wasn’t there now, and the cell seemed even smaller than before, as if her brain was mocking her. 

Donna felt that Chu had been dangling a promise of something in front of her, but she wasn’t sure of what. Did the psychologist really think she could change Donna somehow? It was too late for that. Mass murder wasn’t the sort of thing one could put behind them. But then again, if that was true, why had she been allowed to live? Chu was right when she had pointed out that the fact that Donna would get out eventually meant something.

Unsure of what she was feeling, Donna took out the paper from her pocket and tried to put down her thoughts. She used the smallest handwriting she possibly could, and still filled the entire thing, front and back. She wrote on top of the front side of the wrapper, blue pen over blue label. What would Dancer and Claudia think? Dancer had always complained about her handwriting, and she had never written this small back when he had been her official secretary. Would Claudia still leap to her defense, making jokes about how “the boss” didn’t have time for things like neat handwriting? It had been odd to be promoted to a position of power over a friend, but Claudia had never shown signs of being bothered.

Hopefully, they’d be able to figure out the note. She couldn’t imagine anything the two of them put together couldn’t do. Donna folded the paper and placed it back in her trousers pocket. The sympathetic guard would be coming around soon, if not today then tomorrow. She resumed her sudoku, still unable to figure out half of the numbers.


	14. New

“Happy anniversary!” Donna said in lieu of a greeting when they were let out for their morning walk.

“Thanks,” Theodosius said, walking closer to her. “You, too.”

Donna faced her friend. Had he changed over the past year? She had no idea. “One year down, huh? Can you believe it?”

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair, looking around the yard. “I don’t know.”

One year seemed like nothing. A measly four percent of their sentences. But for Westfield, Groat, Kim, Novik, and Mitman, whose first year would be ending in less than two weeks, one year would be twenty percent. Thus, the same amount of time was a lot and a little simultaneously. 

\-------------

“You know, I’m actually kind of glad to be working outside again,” said Theodosius, raking the ground.

Donna yanked the pitchfork out of her side of the patch, nearly losing her balance. “At least when we were crocheting, we didn’t have to pick up the slack for some of the others.” She shoved the pitchfork into the ground and stepped on it to make it go in deeper. Then, she leaned with her full body on the handle to lift it out of the ground. It was exhausting, and she had to constantly switch back and forth with Theodosius.

In a patch next to them, three former Peacekeepers weren’t having as many issues. Stein, Pitrock, and Holder were all in their fifties, but swung their shovels and pitchforks as if they weighed nothing. “I think it’s more likely that they’ll be picking up the slack for us,” Theodosius said, gesturing to them. Overhearing them, Stein smiled and pulled his pitchfork out of the ground in an easy and smooth motion, turning the soil over. Donna gritted her teeth in envy and slammed her own pitchfork into the ground over and over, breaking up the large clumps of soil.

“True,” she said, shoving the pitchfork back into the ground and stepping away from it, breathing heavily in the cold air. “Want to switch?” Theodosius nodded and walked over; she went towards the rake. It was much easier to use.

They worked like that for a while, switching back and forth between the pitchfork and the rake, until Donna noticed some unfamiliar figures stepping into the yard. Could it be?

“Look!” she hissed loudly enough for the former Peacekeepers to overhear. Theodosius looked up from his raking and froze, jaw hanging open.

“That’s the Steelworks people!” he said. All over the yard, everyone was coming to much the same conclusion, stopping work to stare. The eleven new prisoners stood in a small bunch, staring at their surroundings. They looked dazed and worn out, which made sense, given that several of their old colleagues had just been executed. One by one, they drifted away from the wall, joining people they must have known before. One, an average-sized man with red hair and the number 29, walked over to them, waving awkwardly to Theodosius.

He shook hands with all of them as they gave their names, but before he could introduce himself, there was an extremely important question Donna needed to know the answer to. “How much did West get?” she asked.

The man blinked uncertainly, swaying on his feet. “Five years,” he practically drawled.

What? Only five years? Then what had been the point of going to all that effort to learn sign language, if she’d only need it for five years?

Theodosius was thinking along the same lines. “We learned sign language just for her,” he said.

“Huh,” slurred the man, and sat down abruptly. He rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said in a clearer but still monotone voice. “They gave me a sedative, but it just made me really groggy. We were supposed to be brought here early in the morning and given time to sleep, but the executioners botched everything and it took too long.” He dug his hands into the dirt, yawning. 

“The executioners botched-” Theodosius began, and broke off. Donna was also struggling for words. What had happened there? The husband-and-wife team of Arif and Heather Young had had plenty of practice by this point, what was there to botch? “They botched ours, but that was the first one!” The executions of the former Peacekeepers took much longer to be carried out due to a debate on where they should take place.

“Phrasing!” said Donna, clapping a palm to her face. Theodosius made it sound as if they had been the ones being executed. The man laughed.

“I heard about that. There’s no way that wasn’t on purpose.” When calculating the length of the rope needed for a long-drop hanging, the Youngs had used the prisoner weights recorded at the beginning of the trial. The long drop ended up being a short drop for everyone bar the diminutive Talvian, whose caloric requirements had been so absurdly low, she had actually managed to _gain_ weight during the trial. “This time, though, the gallows turned out to be set up incorrectly, so they had to take them apart at the last moment and put them back together again. I’m Fest, by the way.”

“What the fuck,” said Stein. “That must have been horrible!”

Fest yawned again. “I’m too tired to feel anything,” he said. “Apparently, one of the condemned fainted, but I don’t know who. Half of us here had to be given meds. I was so sure about the time everything would be happening, I legitimately thought that time had stopped.” He took the pitchfork and began to poke at the ground with it.

“Fainted, huh?” said Pitrock. “Did you know that Coll fainted when he received his sentence?”

“I did _not_ faint,” Theodosius snarled as Fest stared at him with horrified interest. There was an awkward pause.

“So, who are you all?” asked Pitrock. “And do you have news?” he added eagerly before Fest could say a word. “We’ve been fed scraps here.”

A guard walked in their approximate direction, and Fest leapt to his feet, suddenly alert. Donna felt a brief moment of surprise before remembering that he had just spent years in jail. They waited for the guard to pass, and then Fest spoke up. “Did you ever hear the story about the woman who taught her parrot to say ‘Down with Snow’?”

Everyone blinked, taken aback. “What did that have to do with the Steelworks?” Theodosius asked. 

“That’s like asking what mining quotas in Twelve had to do with the Peacekeepers who never even served there,” grumbled Pitrock.

Fest shook his head. “You know how way back when during the Dark Days, rebels got jabberjays to say anything from misinformation to insults?” Everyone made sounds of assent. “Well, this one clerk from the Steelworks must have heard too many stories from the politically unreliable side of the family, because she bought a mutt parrot and trained it to say ‘Stop the Games’, ‘Down with Snow’, and, I kid you not, ‘Murderers and liars, go to your pyres’.” Donna cringed. She had heard that last phrase shouted at her when she was being brought to jail in the back of a truck. 

“What about ‘no forgetting, no forgiving’?” Theodosius asked sarcastically. “Might as well get the full set.”

“That was only made up for us,” Donna said. “When did this incident with the parrot happen, by the way?”

“Less than ten years ago,” said Fest. That put it right around the last serious purge before 74. During purges, people had been executed for less.

Holder had been working up until now, but he now put down his pitchfork to join the conversation. “Wait, so how old is that ‘murderers and liars’ bit?” he asked.

Leaning on a pitchfork, Theodosius answered. “It was a rallying cry before the First Rebellion-” he began before being cut off.

“‘First Rebellion’, really?” said Fest. “We all know you mean ‘Dark Days’ when you say that.”

Theodosius took a combative stance but decided not to start the argument. “In any case, it started out as ‘Thieves and liars, five minutes and you’re fired’ back when the protests were still peaceful, but it slowly changed until it was the rallying cry of the rebels in the Capitol.”

“One of the witnesses was a ninety-two-year-old Capitolian who had been in the Rebellion since her early teens,” Donna explained Theodosius’ depth of knowledge. “Anyway, so what happened with the parrot?”

Fest leaned on the pitchfork Theodosius had just vacated. “The woman’s boss tried to get it hushed up, but the incident became common knowledge and she was executed. I don’t know what happened to the parrot, but I know that the boss is probably sleeping in his warm bed next to his warm husband right now.” Fest’s eyes flashed with anger. Had the whole story been an excuse to complain about the man being found not guilty? It was likely.

“So,” said Theodosius. “There’s you, there’s West, and I see Springer over there.” He waved in the direction of the tall woman who was talking with Westfield. “How much did she get?”

“Ten years.”

“Who are the rest of you?” Theodosius asked. “The guards didn’t tell us anything,” he said as if it were a personal insult.

“Alright, so West, Hatcher, and Smith got five years-”

“Another Smith?” Holder asked, throwing his hands in the air.

Donna smiled slightly. “Given that we’re numbered, I don’t think that’s a problem.” She was more annoyed that she had no idea who this new Smith was. The guards had only kept them updated on the trials in broad strokes, never mentioning specific names.

Holder must have been thinking along the same lines, for he continued, “But who _are_ they, exactly?”

“Do you want me to give you their entire biographies?” snarked Fest. “I’m sure you can just ask them. Do you want me to continue or not?” Everyone nodded. “Alright, I’m here for eight years. Springer I already mentioned. Nitza got fifteen years, Williamson - eighteen, Vartha - twenty, and Xu, Zelenka, and Koy got life.” 

Donna hoped she’d remember the names, especially since Vartha now had the second-longest finite sentence after her and Theodosius. It was looking like she’d have to talk to everyone to find out who they had been, though.

“Thank you,” said Pitrock.

Shrugging, Fest leaned more of his weight on the pitchfork, which made it fall over. Donna held back a laugh as he scrambled to his feet, brushing off the dirt. “So,” he asked, trying to clean dirt from his elbow, “any advice for a newcomer? How’s the food?”

“Thirteen military rations,” answered Pitrock. “You’ll forget what it’s like to be hungry, but you’ll also forget what it’s like to be full.”

“I already forgot,” added Stein.

Fest, however, smiled. “Well, at least that’s stable.”

Theodosius jumped in. “How did you find the endless questioning by the psychologists? Because you have to talk to one every week for an hour. Sometimes more.” Theodosius also talked with Dr. Chu, and while he and Donna often talked about their sessions, Donna didn’t go into much detail and knew that neither did Theodosius.

“Psychologist?” Fest asked. “Well, that’s not too bad. If they want to listen to me blather about my life, they’re welcome to it.”

Donna shook her head. “Beware, though, that during the first session, it’ll feel like the first day of cross-examination all over again.” Fest sighed and hid his face in his hands. “They’ll ease up after that. I think they just want to know how far they can push us until we snap. Test our emotional resilience, or something like that.” She didn’t mention the offer of help that still bounced around her mind. This wasn’t the sort of company one could discuss that with.

The pitchfork was yanked out of the ground by Stein. “True,” he said as he resumed working on the soil. “I was half-expecting the psychologist to start throwing documents at me. When they turned up for the second time I was nearly terrified, and then they started asking me about my childhood. I was so confused.”

Fest rubbed at his eyes with his hands. “Well, that should be interesting,” he said, yawning. He looked around the yard, squinting even though it was overcast. “So, what do you do here all day?” he asked. “They didn’t tell us anything, just threatened us with all sorts of punishments if we broke the rules.” Fest sounded slightly nervous.

“This,” said Theodosius, gesturing at the pitchfork Stein was using. “I hope you like gardening. And if the weather’s bad, we crochet. We’re allowed to read books, too.”

“You forgot the cleaning,” Stein pointed out. “We also do our own laundry.”

“I’m used to cleaning,” Fest said immediately, and then took a while to take everything else in. “Laundry?” he eventually asked. In jail, their laundry had been done for them, and they had been issued with clean clothes every day of the trial.

“It’s actually pretty simple,” said Pitrock.

“And what sort of books?” 

“Nothing that pertains to the last seventy-six years. Even foreign books aren’t allowed if they mention the Games, or the political structure of Panem, or us.” Theodosius ticked off all of the forbidden topics. “I would recommend asking for a sign language textbook.”

“How _was_ West’s trial conducted?” cut in Pitrock. “Did they have to do everything through an interpreter?” 

Fest nodded. “She spent twice as much time on the witness stand as anyone else. The first interpreter turned out to not have the technical vocabulary necessary, so West had to fingerspell a lot of words, which led to even more delays. They had to drag the interpreter West had worked with before out of his cell. He was actually being held in the same jail, so it was quite convenient, really.” Similar things had happened at Donna’s trial, with witnesses who were also defendants at different trials giving testimony that ranged from blatantly self-serving to unexpectedly loyal. It must have been odd for them, to be taken from courtroom to courtroom and play different roles.

“Convenient for them,” said Pitrock. “Oh, and by the way, don’t try to wriggle out of work. They technically can’t force us to do anything, but they can give us the choice between work and sitting in our cells all day. If you disobey or complain, they’ll toss you into total solitary for a day or two or take away your books and paper.” 

“Thank you, I know,” Fest said sourly. “How often do these things happen?” he added in a slightly strained voice.

Theodosius stared into space for a few seconds, thinking. “Not very. Hryb’s the main offender here. At least once a month, he refuses to get up in the mornings. The guards take away his bedding, but then he just lies on the floor and glares at everyone.” The former Peacekeepers nodded in agreement. Donna had often wished she could see it happen. “A few people were banned from writing letters for a few weeks when they tried to write about forbidden topics too often. Smith was sent to total solitary for a month after she punched a guard; they were going to chain her at the hands when they let her out but then decided she was too unstable.”

“I was thrown into total solitary for a week once because I ate a potato from the yard,” Donna added. 

Fest stood there silently for a good half-minute as the five others awkwardly shifted around, unwilling to break the silence. “Alright,” he eventually said. “What’s going on with Hryb?”

“He’s thirty,” said the fifty-five-year-old Stein as if that explained everything.

“He refuses to face reality,” said Pitrock, who had never faced reality in all his time in the Supermax. “Keeps on doing strange things just because he can. He’s not the only one, mind, Smith - the one from Victors’ Affairs - skips everywhere and hums _The Hanging Tree_ constantly. She started out with pop songs and switched to that.”

“Not just hums,” Donna cut in. “She sings it at night. You’re lucky you won’t have to listen to it.”

“You’ll have to listen to Hryb complaining, though,” Pitrock said.

Fest rubbed at his face with his hands. “I need to lie down,” he said.

Pitrock pointed at the bench that was a few metres away from them. “Go ahead,” he said. “The guards know you’re exhausted. They won’t bother you.”

Uncertaintly, Fest walked towards the bench, and lay down. 

“Well, that’s that,” said Theodosius, and picked up his rake. The former Peacekeepers drifted back to their patch, Stein taking the pitchfork with him.

\--------------------

Donna made sure to pass by West when going to pick up another rake to replace the one the former Peacekeepers had needed to borrow. She waved to her in greeting and signed hello. The former researcher signed a greeting back, and inquired about her health. Donna found herself grinning widely. She could understand what West was saying!

“I’m alright,” Donna signed. “How are you?” West’s signs were smooth and natural, even more so than Mitman’s. Next to her, Donna looked like she had the sign language equivalent of a stutter, and Mitman looked like a twelve-year-old carefully sounding out complicated words.

“I suppose I have Mitman to thank for everyone trying to talk to me,” West signed, making an exaggerated grimace of mock exasperation that looked natural instead of comical. “I was afraid I’d be writing in the dirt.” She scuffed the ground with a toe for emphasis.

“We were bored,” signed Donna, shrugging expansively. She fingerspelled the word ‘bored’, not knowing the sign. West made a sign at her that must have meant ‘boredom’. Donna mimicked it, and West nodded. Hopefully, Donna would be able to remember it.

The full gravity of the situation hit Donna. She was talking in sign language! Slowly, yes, but she was still talking without making a single sound. In less than a year, she had learned how to speak a different language! Donna felt a strange emotion she couldn’t identify.

West smiled. “I am very happy that you were bored, then. I thought only Mitman would be able to talk to me, but everyone’s dropping by to say hello. Even the guards. I’ve never been surrounded by so many hearing people who could talk to me.”

“We tried.” There was an awkward pause.

“Well,” said West, “thank you for the conversation, Mrs. Blues.”

“You’re welcome,” said Donna, and finally went to get the rake.

When she got back, Theodosius asked her, “What took you so long?” He was half-heartedly poking at the ground with the pitchfork and shooting irritated glances at Fest, who was pruning an apple tree. A part of Donna was happy that the former Steelworks engineer wouldn’t be monopolizing Theodosius’ attention, but she was mostly annoyed that she wouldn’t be able to hear fresh news from him.

“Talked to West,” she explained.

Theodosius looked up, suddenly interested. “And how did that go?”

How _had_ it gone? Donna wasn’t sure. “Alright, I guess. We didn’t talk about anything, really. And I felt like a six-year-old talking to an adult.” She paused, thinking. “It’s definitely strange, to use sign language to actually talk. It’s like...it’s like there’s a whole new world you have access to. Well, not really ‘world’, but you can suddenly communicate with people you would have struggled to communicate with before. It’s...it’s amazing,” she realized. “I can talk to someone I wouldn’t have been able to talk to before.”

“Wow,” said Theodosius. “I should really try to talk to her.” He jumped to his feet. “You mind?” Donna shook her head, and he walked off in the direction of West, who was talking to several of the former Gamemaker assistants, Mitman at the head of the little group. From this far away, it looked like they were gesticulating wildly at each other.

Left alone, Donna raked the ground of yet another garden bed. The former Steelworks people were the first new prisoners since last May, when Li had been brought in. How much time would it take for them to settle in? Would they be able to fully blend in with the rest of them? There were so many divisions among them, former Peacekeepers and former Games employees being the largest groups. Donna and Theodosius, of course, mostly just had each other. Not only was their stance on responsibility off-putting to most, but they were also “key criminals,” an entirely separate category, and had the longest finite sentences by far, separating them from both the lifers and the others. 

Of course, now there were a few more prisoners with long finite sentences. Donna realized with some surprise that she was actually a little bit proud of still having the longest one. Vartha would only be released in her twenty-first year here. That still meant four years with just the lifers for company. That was a lot, but not when compared with the twenty that would precede it.

Livia Shetkovi, whom Donna had worked and been good friends with before, had sent in a letter through the sympathetic guard a few days ago. Apparently, some of her old acquaintances and colleagues were interested in having her work with them when she got out. What was more interesting to Donna at the moment, though, was an anecdote Livia had written about the District Affairs trial, which had begun recently. Several protesters had raised a banner inside the building that called for strict sentences for the defendants, so that Donna and Theodosius could have company in prison throughout their sentence. Donna laughed again remembering it, more because of the absurdity than because it was funny. Was she a joke now? What did that say about the people?

On the other hand, if they could find something humorous in the situation, more power to them.

At that moment, Donna noticed Theodosius strolling back up the path towards her. “What are you laughing about?” he asked, picking up his rake.

“That letter my friend sent me a few days ago,” she answered.

“Ah. I still can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “On one hand, if they can laugh then more power to them, but on the other - what is there to laugh about?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Donna said. “Anyway, so how was your talk with West?”

Theodosius resumed raking the ground. “She mostly complained about how the Rebellion thinks that industry had more influence than it actually did.”

“Well, that’s fair enough.” The industrialists, despite technically owning entire Districts, had served only at Snow’s whim. None of their riches helped if they were deemed to be politically unreliable, and they could easily be replaced. It was connections, not money, that had been the real currency in the Capitol. “Anything else?”

“She tried to go on a rant about how Thirteen just doesn’t understand the Capitol, but I couldn’t understand half the words.”

Donna smirked slightly. “Well, they certainly didn’t before. Now, I think, their crash course in Capitol life has paid off.”

“If Dovek correcting the prosecution on every little detail counts as a crash course-” Theodosius shook his head. “I still can’t believe his audacity.”

“You know,” Donna said hesitantly, “I still don’t know what to think about the fact that they’re all dead and we’re not.”

Theodosius stopped raking. “Same. I suppose it’s the date, anniversary and whatnot. I mean, I knew some of them. None of them were my friends, but we were close. But I can’t feel anything besides relief that it wasn’t me who dropped through that trapdoor with a rope around my neck.” Donna shuddered internally at the mental image, almost feeling the rough fibres scraping against her skin.

“Should we be feeling something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Theodosius answered with a shrug. “Ask Dr. Chu. And tell me the answer.” Theodosius’ sessions were two days after hers. “By the way, a warden stopped me on the way back. The short man from Eleven. He wanted to brag about how he’s a father now. Even showed me a photo of his daughter.” It was odd sometimes to think of the guards as having a life outside of the Supermax, but have a life they did. They were family people, had friends, occupations they had worked in during their civilian lives. 

“I wonder if he’ll still be around to show us photos of his first grandchild, too,” Donna said.

“That’s what I was thinking!” Theodosius said. “You know, it’s theoretically possible that his daughter will get to guard us.”

Now that was an odd prospect. “Imagine her saying that she’s a second-generation Supermax guard.”

Theodosius slammed his rake into a particularly stubborn clump of soil. “Can you believe that all these people are employed thanks to us? Oh, and I talked for a few seconds with Vartha.”

“And?” Donna asked, stretching her back. 

“Nothing, really. He complained about being strip-searched. Said it was unnecessary and mortifying.” Theodosius rubbed at his face, as if trying to chase away bad memories. “I tried to turn it into a joke, told him he should be grateful for the medical examination. He looked at me like I was insane and marched off to commiserate with Williamson.”

As far as jokes went, that wasn’t too bad. “I think it’s too soon for jokes like that,” Donna pointed out. “They were just brought in here hours ago, after all. At least when we were brought in, we got to sit in our cells alone and think about how we had been insulted.”

Theodosius snorted. “Insulted? You? After that story you told me about giving birth to Laelia, I don’t think there is anything that can mortify you.” 

That was kind of true. “I meant in general,” Donna clarified. “Not everyone’s used to being poked and prodded like that.”

“I’d say most people aren’t,” Theodosius said. “Anyway, you think we should start making the wooden sides for the vegetable beds? I’m tired of raking.”

“Sure,” said Donna, and they went in the direction of the shed.

\------------

Donna lay in bed on her back, glaring at the lightbulb as Zelenka shouted at the wardens, demanding that the light be turned off. 

“Silence, Female Twenty-Nine!” shouted the warden from Thirteen.

“You’re the ones not letting me sleep!”

“If you do not stop shouting, you _will_ be punished!” That threat worked. Silence fell over the corridor, punctured by the sound of bootsteps.

The light was always the same, day and night. Bright and blinding, the bulb was worked into the ceiling and could only be accessed with a ladder and tools. Apparently, it could glow continuously for forty years. Assuming that new lightbulbs had been installed recently and that none of them would be defective, how many of the prisoners would see a replacement? But what if the administration eventually agreed to turn off the lightbulbs at night? How would that affect the calculations? Donna decided to do the math the next day, as she was too tired now. It was strange to consider just how long she had spent sleeping with the light on. It was even stranger to consider that a year of her sentence was over already. A year. A year ago, she had walked into that courtroom, knowing that she was going to hang, and knowing that she would deserve it. But no, she was still breathing. If that was what she deserved, why did she feel so strange about it all?

“I understand you,” she whispered to the lightbulb. “It’s not your fault you have to glow. It’s your job. Just like I had mine.”

 _I can’t make my own decisions, though_ , Donna imagined the lightbulb answering.

“I thought I couldn’t, too.”

 _I have no concept of good and bad_ , the lightbulb said. _You do. You did bad things, and thought they were good. Worse, you did bad things, and didn’t care that they were bad._

“Is it worse to have no moral compass, or a skewed one?” Donna asked, folding her hands under her head.

 _You were capable of making your own decisions. You decided what to do. You made policy. You were an autonomous individual, not a thing that could be turned on and off by flicking a switch,_ she imagined the lightbulb saying.

“Poor lightbulb,” she said, tears stinging at her eyes. “We complain about you so much, but we have no right to. You aren’t able to make your own decisions.” Donna turned over to her side. “I wish I couldn’t make decisions. Then, nothing would have been my fault.”

_You’d give up your agency just to free yourself from the burden of guilt?_

The tears were flowing freely now. “In a heartbeat. I never could, though.” She rolled back over, staring at the ceiling. The lightbulb was too bright to look at. “I never wanted to hurt anyone,” she sobbed. “I don’t understand. Why did I ever send in my application?”

_You didn’t realize that they were people just like you._

“I wish I could stop feeling,” she said, wiping her face with a sleeve. “This is destroying me!”

_You deserve nothing less._

Donna looked away from the ceiling and curled up on her side.


	15. Discussions

Donna paused her crocheting to flex her hands. Her fingers felt completely stiff, especially on her right hand, which was painful to open and close. Using her left hand, she spread out the blanket on her lap, checking the progress. It covered her entire lap. Shaking out her hands and glancing to the side, Donna saw Li’s fingers dance as he made intricate cabling grow out of his yarn. He saw her looking. “Already tired?” he asked.

“Still sore from yesterday. And the day before.” It had been raining for the past few days, keeping them inside for the entire day except for the walks. Donna was eager to get back outside. Being able to move around made her feel better. “I can’t wait for it to stop raining.”

Li shrugged, adjusting his grip on his yarn. “I don’t mind it.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Katz. “But I don’t like being treated like a mental patient.” She had her blanket, which for now was more of a scarf, thrown over her shoulders for warmth, and was constantly shifting it around to be able to work on it.

“Speaking of mental patients,” said Strata, “could you please tell Hryb to stop provoking Smith?” Since neither Smith nor Hryb were in there, the other prisoners could talk about them as much as they wanted. 

Theodosius turned around from his blanket to give her a weird look. “Provoking? A day doesn’t pass when he doesn’t complain about Smith provoking _him_.”

“Every time they interact, she spends the entire evening complaining about how hard-headed Hryb is!” said Strata incredulously.

“She’s the one who confronts him, though,” argued Li. “And she falls to pieces every time. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to see his family, why is she still beating her head against that wall if it just hurts her every time?”

“Honestly,” said Katz, tossing the working end of the project over one shoulder and taking the other one from the other, “I think they’re both provoking each other.”

“Smith at least has an excuse,” Donna pointed out. “Total solitary for a month is going to mess you up.”

Strata nodded along. “Exactly. I was doing some reading on this. Total isolation can actually be deadly.”

At that, Stein looked up from starting a new ball of yarn. “You did _reading_ on this?” he asked, pinching the ends with an iron grip to keep everything from falling apart.

“I got curious,” Strata said with a shrug.

“And what does the book say about recovering?” Stein continued, carefully making a stitch with the new yarn, still holding the ends with a white-knuckled grip.

Strata ran her hand through her hair, making it stick out even further, and then crushed it with her cap. “It depends,” she eventually said. 

“Because to me,” Stein said, “it seems rather unlikely that Smith should still be walking around like in a daze, humming constantly. Do you really think she’s like that with the psychologist? Or her kids? I don’t.”

“Wait,” cut in Katz. “I think you’re all taking sides based on who you interact with more.”

That was true, Donna realized. The men were taking Hryb’s side, and the women - Smith’s. 

“Huh,” said Strata. “I didn’t realize that. What _does_ Hryb say in the meal queues?”

“I think it’s less what they say, and more - just being in close contact with them,” said Katz.

“Not much,” said Theodosius at the same time. “He still thinks we’ll be released soon.”

There was an awkward silence, as always when Donna or Theodosius mentioned anything on the topic. While they had been far from the only ones to admit to some sort of guilt or responsibility, they had somehow become symbols, much to the irritation of the former Peacekeepers, who viewed them as traitors and in fact were only willing to associate with them because of the stories about Capitol life. The more the media brought up Donna and Theodosius, the more irritated they became.

“While we’re talking about mental patients,” Strata said, “could one of you men please do something about Holder? He insulted me to my face yesterday.” The middle-aged former Peacekeeper’s brain didn’t quite work the same way as most, resulting in him constantly saying strange things that would have been offensive had he been able to comprehend that they were. Theodosius shrugged weakly in response to Strata’s question. None of them knew how to approach Holder.

The silence continued. Donna listened to Novik and Leta discuss Leta’s upcoming visit. Her husband was going to be visiting her. Donna hadn’t seen Dem in months and months, as he simply didn’t have the time to spend half the day just driving back and forth, especially since the car had been sold long ago. He worked six days a week, and deserved to relax when he had a day off, not go through all the stress of a visit.

Donna wondered who would be visiting her next, and when. She had asked her father to visit her months ago, but she had no idea when he’d finally be able to. The visiting time kept on accumulating, but Donna doubted he’d be able to handle more than the standard half-hour. Even that would probably be too much. What could she even say to him? The same old ‘I’m alright, everything’s alright, the food is good, how are you?’ The letters were already full of that. There were simply no new words to describe everything. What was she supposed to do? Draw a picture? She didn’t know how to draw properly. Although, now that was an idea. Donna began to plan, yarn squeaking slightly on the hook as it did sometimes.

A few days ago, Donna had found a list of materials in the toolshed, a piece of thin cardboard as big as both of her palms next to each other. Made out of sturdy white paper and with writing only on one side, it was perfect for her writing needs, so she had stuffed it in her pocket without a second thought, to use for her diary entries and clandestine letters. Now, though, she had a different idea. The thin cardboard was very similar to that of the postcards sold in touristy spots. Maybe she could make something like that for her children. Even though the drawings would be little better than stick figures, it would still give a better impression of how things were in the Supermax. 

So, what should she draw? Her cell? The yard? She tried to think of something that would reassure her family. What could she draw that would make her children smile? Donna wasn’t much of an artist, which put a damper on things. And wait a minute, was it even forbidden to include drawings in letters?

“Mrs. Blues!” whispered Strata.

Donna was pulled out of her thoughts and nearly dropped the hook. “What is it?” she asked.

“When did you hear about the disappearance of General Zahar?”

It took a few seconds for her brain to shift gears. “Far as I know, immediately after it happened. I was told that search parties might appear in the area and interfere with work.” Zahar, once the bearer of high rank in the Capitol Peacekeeping unit, had gotten involved with the Rebellion, leading to his kidnapping. Snow had pretended that he had disappeared without trace for an unknown reason, and even held an investigation. Most thought he was dead. In reality, he had been tortured in the Supermax, on the floor below the one Donna occupied now. 

“Told you,” said Li. “They wouldn’t have wanted to hide it. Less room for rumours.” Zahar had managed to survive nearly a decade of imprisonment, family not knowing if he was alive or dead until the Supermax was freed. All of them, except his aged mother, managed to escape to Thirteen shortly after Zahar’s disappearance, afraid that as family members of an enemy of the people, they would be next. When found, it had taken months until he was able to speak coherently, and then he was almost immediately taken to testify at the Death Squad trial.

The guards had delighted in telling Donna the story. How his poor mother had faced the people who had taken her son from her, and begged them to return him. Donna knew the words by heart. _‘Please, good people, give me back my son. I’m not mad at anyone, I just want my boy back. He means everything to me. He never did anything bad to others, only good.’_ And then the next witness was called. Zahar himself.

More than anything, Donna wanted to know what Li had thought when that had happened, but she didn’t want to start a fight more than she wanted to know.

“I suppose you’d know,” said Theodosius. Donna sighed, and braced herself for the fight.

Li looked up from his project with a gleam in his eyes. “I was literally in training when that happened. How would I know?”

“In general,” said Donna. “You know about how those sorts of things functioned.”

“I never as much as punched another person!” hissed Li, punching at his thigh for emphasis. 

Theodosius ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “I’m just saying that you know how things happened.”

Li placed his project in his lap, throwing his hands in the air. “I am sure that you know as well as I do that it is possible to be in the circle, but not in the know!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Silence!” shouted a guard. Li picked up his project, adjusted his hold on the yarn, and continued crocheting.

Gradually, the whispers resumed. Donna had gotten the hint in Li’s statement, and was feverishly thinking of a counterargument.

“Mr. Li?” she asked. Li grunted quietly. “Wouldn’t you agree that what you just said earlier is just a _possibility_? I’d think that it depends on what sort of circle you’re referring to, as well as to what position.”

“Please, stop,” said Li, hunching over and flicking yarn over his hook. “Isn’t there anything else for you to talk about, other than trying to rub in our faces how much better you are than us?”

That was extremely unfair and Donna wanted to argue the point, but she didn’t bother. Instead, she stayed silent. She chained one to make a turning chain and flipped over the blanket to start a new row. It was satisfying to go over old mistakes, hiding them. But then again, she felt like that every row. Didn’t that just mean that she was making mistakes over and over, covering up old mistakes with new ones?

“Even the international community thinks of you as a symbol!” hissed Strata. 

“A symbol?” asked Theodosius. “As if what they think has ever made us do anything differently.”

“Yuri Hernandez-” began Li, but was cut off by Donna.

“What about Hernandez?” she said. “That was more than seventy years ago. If Lark had been around back then, he would have gotten more than accusations of opening up the gates of Hell.” In the early days, President McCollum had been softer on the Capitolians, and allowed them more leeway. When it became internationally known that Hernandez was being threatened with arrest for speaking out against the Games, there was an international outcry, which may or may not have contributed to him remaining free, and eventually fleeing to South America.

Back then, even the state propaganda had been willing to tone it down sometimes. Donna found it hard to imagine that Panem could ever have been different. Even trying to remember what the state propaganda had been like before Lark and Jellicoe was almost impossible, let alone trying to picture what Panem had been like when it had not been one country, but instead Canada, the United States, and Mexico.

Theodosius must have been thinking along the same lines. “I can’t imagine a time when Lark wasn’t around.” The newspaper owner, talk-show host, and news anchor had told the Capitol what to believe for decades and decades, until he ended up in the same dock as Donna, and then - in a noose. Jellicoe had opted to die by his own hand in the last phase of the fighting, together with thousands of others.

“Wait,” said Strata, “who’s Yuri Hernandez? And _opening up the gates of Hell_ , what happened there?”

That story had been one of Slice’s favourites to tell. Now that she was serving a nine-year sentence in a Capitol prison, Donna could be the source of it. It was slightly morbid, how many stories she had heard during trial and was now re-telling, because if she didn’t, they would get lost. She’d have to write it up and send it to Livia. Every time she wrote down a story and thought that was the end, she remembered something else soon after.

“It happened in the first years of the Games,” Donna explained. “Yuri Hernandez was an alleged Rebel and a well-known journalist, and in those days, McCollum hadn’t wanted to kill someone of that calibre. Hernandez never approved of the Games, and eventually spoke out against them. Some news anchor, the Lark of their time, accused him of opening up the gates of Hell because of that.” The former Peacekeepers chuckled at that last line. Nobody from the Districts, no matter how fanatically dedicated Peacekeepers they may have been, would have been able to tolerate Lark’s passionate disgust with everything District.

“And McCollum let him go?” Li asked, baffled. Clearly, he didn’t know as much about Hernandez as he had implied.

“No,” said Theodosius. “The world was furious that even criticism from the inside was being suppressed. Since the regime was still shaky and nobody knew if the nukes were actually an effective deterrent, McCollum decided to not crack down for the moment. There was eventually a purge of politically unreliable entertainers, but by then, Hernandez was in South America.”

“Huh,” said Strata. “I didn’t know that.”

Donna shrugged, carefully picking her words. “I doubt they went on and on about those kinds of things at your trial.”

“I’m confused,” spoke up Li. “If the world was that angry, why didn’t they do something to stop the Games?” He furiously pulled at the yarn. “I hate this,” he suddenly said. “I hate that I don’t know anything but scraps.”

“Neither do any of us,” said Katz kindly as she wrapped her blanket around her neck. “You may have had access to the most clandestine NCIA files, but that didn’t mean they were going to explain to you how things really worked.”

“But they know things,” Li said, gesturing at Donna and Theodosius.

Theodosius bunched up his blanket on his lap to get to the corner. “Because we had ninety-year-old Rebels give us history lectures,” he said in a light voice. “I can tell you endless stories about McCollum, but I don’t know who he actually was.” Donna nodded in agreement. The first president of post-First Rebellion Panem was still a mystery to her, despite the fact that his rule had been talked about endlessly.

Although, it’s not like she knew that much about Snow, either, and she had interacted with him at least weekly for years. Donna may have had an endless supply of interesting stories, but at the end of the day, she was as ignorant as Li when it came to the forces moving in the background.

\---------------

It was still drizzling when they went for their afternoon walk. Donna stepped carefully, avoiding the muddy sections of the path where the gravel was gone. The fine raindrops were like a cold mist, chilling her face but not getting through her clothes. “At least it’s not actually raining,” she said.

“Still not very nice,” Theodosius answered. “I wish I had a scarf.” Donna had no idea what the temperature was. Clearly, it was warm enough for it to be raining, but not actually warm. Five degrees, maybe?

“I think it would be too warm in a scarf,” she said. “Still, maybe you should ask Cynthia to send one.” They were now allowed to ask for small articles of clothing, though each one was subject to the administration’s approval. Donna imagined the directors arguing over whether she should be allowed to receive a pair of socks. The ones they gave out here were thin, and she wanted to have warm feet without needing to put on two pairs at once.

They walked by Townsend, who was lying on a bench, heedless of the damp. The worse his condition got, the more stubbornly he tried to pretend that everything was alright. Donna wondered how much longer he had left. It was a sickening thought. There weren’t that many people in here, and the thought of one being gone forever made her feel like she was being suffocated by isolation, pieces of her mind being torn away one by one.

“I think he’s the one who might need a scarf,” said Theodosius, nodding in the direction of Townsend. “Isn’t he immunocompromised? This can’t be safe for him.”

“I don’t think he cares anymore,” Donna said.

A slight breeze picked up, biting at their exposed faces. “Honestly, it’s such a shame,” said Theodosius, trying to hide his face in the collar of his jacket. “The IDC couldn’t kill him, but his own body is doing the job for them.”

“Well, that’s cancer for you,” Donna said.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Theodosius muttered. “Cynthia’s sister had cancer a few years ago, and they’re fraternal twins. The risk is something like forty percent, and that’s without factoring in the fact that half the family has died of cancer.” And what was the probability that Cynthia would die in the next twenty-four years? Donna was willing to bet Theodosius spent his nights wondering just that.

“I never knew they were twins.” 

Theodosius pulled his cap lower as another gust of wind blew cold mist in their faces. “Well, they are. It runs in the family.” He and Cynthia had six children, two sets of fraternal twins among them. “Did you know that whether a couple has fraternal twins depends entirely on the mother?”

Bio 100 had been a long time ago, but Donna still remembered a thing or two. “Yeah. Fraternal twins occur when two egg cells are released. You just added your genetic material to them.”

“Oh, so you actually paid attention in class?” Theodosius asked jokingly. 

“I needed a high GPA. Some courses you just couldn’t skip.”

Li sprinted by, and Donna felt the air he displaced. Within seconds, he was already at the turn in the path. Donna stared, open-mouthed, as he cartwheeled onto a bench, backflipped off it, and resumed running without breaking stride. The guards didn’t even have time to open their mouths before he slowed to a fast jog that was faster than Donna’s best sprint in her highschool cross-country days. “Who’s he trying to impress?” she asked a nearby tree. “And how does he even know how to do that?” He came up with stranger and stranger stunts every day.

Theodosius blinked uncertainly, as if unsure of the reality of what had just happened. “I’m going to ask him,” he said. “There’s no way that backflips were taught in the Death Squad instruction course.”

In the distance, several guards were scolding Li. The prisoners were officially forbidden from running, though jogging was permitted. Some of the guards enjoyed watching Li’s feats of physical prowess, others were less impressed. If he ever tried to disobey, it would take several guards to force him into a corner in a bizarre parody of a children’s game, as he could outrun anyone and his agility was nearly superhuman. Donna was sure the possibility of this happening set the administration’s teeth on edge.

“I can’t believe he’s older than us,” Donna complained. The former Death Squad member was forty-five, which didn’t stop him from being in better shape than the majority of twenty-year-olds.

“I get that,” Theodosius said sadly. “I wish I was in shape.”

“I used to be in shape,” Donna said. “But then I started university.”

“I never was in shape. Is it worse to never have something, or to have it and lose it?”

This sounded too much like one of those questions contemplated in her books, and Donna jumped at the chance to apply her knowledge. “Have it but lose it, I think. Because then, you know what you’re missing out on.”

“That makes sense.” Theodosius took several pebbles out of his pocket, fidgeting with them. “You know, when I visited Twelve for the first time, the train broke down twenty kilometres out, and I had to walk the rest of the way. That was the most physical activity I’ve ever gotten.”

“That’s crazy!” The tracks had tended to be in bad repair. Every year a repair job was done to make sure that the trains carrying the Tributes didn’t have issues, and every year most of the money was stolen, resulting in shoddy repairs that barely lasted until the Games were over. “I’ve only ever had to wait for repairs to be done.”

“Well, that one time, the forecast was really bad, and we were told that it would be days before we got there. Snow wanted me to be there by the next day and one of my subordinates phoned in to say it was urgent, so I went, with two of the train operators for company. I remember I was so tired when I got to the District, I was falling over.” Theodosius placed the pebbles back in his pocket and left his hands at his sides, despite the cold and damp. “The operators had to cheer me up to make me keep on going, I was so frozen and tired I wanted to just sit down and go no further. Why they were so kind to me, I have no idea.”

“Huh,” said Donna. When she had worked on location, the workers from Six had also been very kind. Of their own volition, they had asked after her children and offered advice for dealing with the weather.

Theodosius continued. “By the time we got there, the snowstorm was in full swing, and indeed, it lasted for days. I called my subordinate, and he was shocked to hear my voice. I think he tried to kill me there. When I got back, he had already ‘fallen ill’. I only found out what happened to him at our trial. Arrested on suspicion of Rebel activity, branded an enemy of the people, and shot.” The higher up one got under Snow, the more danger they were in. 

“That’s crazy,” Donna said. “Have you told anyone about this?”

“No. Before, it was dangerous, and now, what’s the point? It would look like I was trying to distract them from my actual visit to Twelve.”

“But you would write about it now,” Donna pressed the point. “Otherwise, nobody will know.” She was fairly certain that he was also sending clandestine notes, though she never asked.

Theodosius looked around before answering in a whisper. “I suppose. After all, if we don’t say what it was like, nobody will ever know. I think that they look at us at the trials, and think that that’s what we were like before.”

“But we were like that before,” Donna argued. “It’s just that without actual power, it looked completely idiotic from the outside.”

“That’s what I meant,” he said. “They don’t understand what it was like when we were in danger from above, below, left, right, and centre.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It was easy for them, they could laugh at Talvian as much as they wanted. But every time I saw her back then, I had these crazy intrusive thoughts, and wanted to rip my brain out of my skull. And she, too, felt safe taking shots at you during the trial, but I remember how you pinned that sabotaged bridge on her in 74. How she abased herself before Snow!”

Donna didn’t want to think about that sabotaged bridge. “Intrusive thoughts?” she asked instead.

Theodosius shrugged self-consciously. “Every time I saw her, a part of my brain wanted to shout ‘Down with Snow!’ or ‘Long live democracy!’ It got to a point where I avoided looking at Talvian as much as I could. I think she thought I was terrified of her.” Donna laughed at the mental image.

“Imagine if someone had actually done that,” she said. “Would they have gotten a trial, or would they have gotten shot on the spot? I know someone once managed to get close to Snow and call him a murderer of children, but I don’t know what happened to them.”

“I remember that! I doubt they’re still alive.” That much was obvious. She had often pictured the scene despite having never seen a photograph or video, as they had been successfully suppressed. What would have motivated someone to do something like that, instead of sticking to scattering leaflets? A desire to die mixed with a deep hatred of the regime? A desperate attempt to remind the Capitol that not everyone agreed with how things were being done? 

Whatever the reason, it had been mostly in vain. Such depth of conviction, and all it did was join the list of the unorganized Rebel activity in the Capitol that wasn’t quite enough to convince the Districts that the Capitolians hadn’t all been enthusiastic murderers. It was a minor miracle that they had been satisfied with Donna and the rest of them.

She was still alive. This person who had dared to tell the truth wasn’t. How could one claim that the tribunal’s sentence had been too harsh?

\----------------

Sitting on her cot with the cardboard hidden in her book of number puzzles, Donna carefully folded the paper to make a card. The outside would be impossible to write on, as it was already covered with a list of how many screws the prison had. The administration was apparently extremely concerned about the disappearance of the list, but they were assuming that it had fallen through a crack or a guard had accidentally thrown it out. One of the wardens had just told her that, as well as explaining that drawings may or may not be allowed in letters, she’d have to go to the directors, and it would probably take the next month to decide because the directors from Two and Thirteen delighted in doing everything just to be contrary to each other but all decisions had to be unanimous. So, Donna decided to make her card now, and send it through the sympathetic guard.

On one side, she drew a picture of the yard, with the trees, vegetable beds, and guard towers. She added little stick figures of prisoners working and guards studying, with labels for some of them. At the top, she wrote ‘The Supermax Resort’ in blocky letters. On the other side, she wrote a brief note for her children. _Greetings from the Supermax resort! I am greatly enjoying myself. The weather hasn’t been too good lately so we’re stuck indoors, but I still have plenty to keep myself occupied. We’re ordering library books tomorrow, in fact, and I’m going to get something on world history. I hope school is going well! -Your mom_

She looked at the card with a critical eye. It didn’t look too bad, although, of course, the drawing wasn’t very good. Hopefully her younger children would like it, and maybe even Donna would find it nice. Her eldest daughter still wasn’t doing so well, her marks were just as low as last year. Nobody had any idea how to motivate her. Dem was reluctant to talk about it, but he had told her that Donna spent her time either wandering around outside or sitting in her little room, reading. Donna herself was fairly sure that all of the rooms in her parents’ house were bigger than two and a half by three metres, but she could still imagine the jokes that had probably been beaten to death ten times over by now. 

It was a disadvantage of having your child named after yourself. Her daughter had always been jokingly compared to her. If Donna behaved like she did, Dem laughed. If she behaved differently, Dem still laughed. Was he still laughing? It was practically a guarantee, at least in Donna’s opinion. He wasn’t going to let anything affect what went on at home. And outside of home, nobody confronted her children about her, so that was one problem she didn’t have to worry about.

Donna closed the card and placed it in her sock. A difficult sudoku awaited her, taunting her. She had figured out all of the possibilities, but couldn’t eliminate any of them. Sometimes, coming back the next day made her notice something she had missed before. Tapping her pen against her blanket, she went down the columns, trying to see if there were any possibilities she could confirm or disprove.


	16. Strange Plans

The little tomato plants were growing well in their seed-starting trays. Donna finished watering the last one and went outside to put the watering can back into the shed. It was bright and sunny, though slightly cool. It was also time to plant pretty much everything, now that the last frost was solidly behind them. Donna had carefully studied a book on gardening, but it described planting times for a different climate. When the book said that early cabbage needed to be planted in mid-April, would that apply fully to them? Donna had no idea. Even the guards who had grown up working in agriculture sometimes struggled when dealing with unfamiliar plants, although at least they could look up whatever they wanted. 

It was already going much more smoothly than the previous year, though. They were going to be planting a wider variety of vegetables, less focused on just acquiring more calories and more - on diversifying the personnel’s diets (though some of the friendlier guards occasionally said that the prisoners would also get to eat some of the fruits of their labours, so that was good.) Fertilizing and planting was in full swing, and Donna was working on making wooden frames for the vegetable beds, so the soil wouldn’t slip away. 

“I’m back,” she told Theodosius. He was sitting on the ground and staring at the stack of boards. Just half an hour ago, he had been normal. “What happened?”

He poked at a board with a hammer. “I’m tired,” he said.

“But you were fine just half an hour ago!” Donna exclaimed. She had noticed during the walk that there were dark circles under his eyes, very visible on his pale skin, but his mood had been the same as normal. “Did something happen?” Had someone said something to him?

Shrugging, Theodosius picked up a board. “I just can’t suppress it anymore, I guess.” He stared at the ground, not meeting her eyes, and rubbed at his face. Donna sat down next to him. “I’m just tired. When Townsend was taken to the infirmary, it woke me up, right?” He had told her that already. Donna doubted the man would ever leave it. “Well, when I tried to go back to sleep, I had weird dreams, and kept on waking up. It’s like when I was depressed shortly after being arrested, but more...vile? Unpleasant?” He seemed to be struggling for words. “At one point, I dreamt that I was in here, but it was five years ago, and Snow came in and told me I was a traitor before turning into a bunch of rose petals.” Donna snorted at the image.

“Yeah, it sounds weird, but I still feel disgusting inside, and I don’t know why.” He shuddered, turning the hammer in his hand over and over. “I got no sleep after that at all.”

Donna thought about what to say for a short while. “I’m sure Dr. Chu knows the answer. When do you think you’ll see her next?” Despite promising, the psychologist didn’t follow a consistent schedule other than showing up for two hours once a week. Theoretically, it was possible to have sessions on consecutive days, or go for nearly two weeks without one.

“Sometime in the next...three days?” he asked hesitantly. The sessions were the only reason to track days of the week. Donna tracked dates with her diary notes, which were always dated, but days of the week were meaningless to her. “I suppose I might as well.” He stood up, picking up a board. “Um, have you ever had dreams like that?”

Donna shifted to her knees and began to sort the boards by size. “Not like that, no. I used to have really bad anxiety dreams when I was Head Engineer, but not anymore. Dr. Chu says it’s because I was stressed about whether I would be able to do my job properly, and now that I don’t have to worry about deadlines and potentially backstabbing subordinates, my brain isn’t constantly on high alert.”

“Wow,” breathed Theodosius, taking two boards and placing them against each other at a ninety-degree angle to make a corner. Next to him were several stakes that would be hammered just inside the corners to keep the frame in place. “Can you hold the boards?” Donna did so, making sure the corner was carefully aligned. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Dr. Chu said that dreams are a reflection of your subconscious thoughts, or something like that.” Theodosius began to attach a bracket using nails, Donna holding the boards in place. “So, if you’re really worried about losing control over something, you’ll dream about being in situations you can’t control, like falling off a tall building.”

“That makes sense,” Theodosius said again as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position. “Did she say anything about how to make yourself stop dreaming?”

Each hit of the hammer sent vibrations into Donna’s hands. “I actually read a book about that sort of stuff, out of curiosity,” she said. “You need to make your brain stop being so worried about whatever it is. If you’re constantly dreaming about a place or person, you should visit it or them, for example. If that’s impossible, you should talk about it and confront what makes your brain so focused on it.” She shook out her hands as Theodosius reached for another nail. “I’m not sure if the book is accurate, though. It said some pretty strange things.”

Theodosius didn’t inquire about the strange things, to Donna’s slight irritation. Just going on a monologue about something interesting that she had read about wouldn’t be too well received, so she always waited for prompting before rattling off some bizarre trivia. Theodosius had always done so, but not today. Instead, he simply said, “I suppose I’ll ask Dr. Chu, then.”

“If you want, you can tell me a specific question you want answered, and if I see her before you, I’ll ask her.” Dr. Chu talked to one person every day, making a total of seven prisoners whose mental well-being she monitored and whom she carefully studied. Donna had no idea who Dr. Chu’s other charges were, other than Theodosius, and she never revealed her psychologist’s name to anyone else, either. The prisoners went so far as to use neutral pronouns for all of the psychologists and psychotherapists, making the anonymity even more total.

Theodosius started to hammer in the next nail. Donna struggled to not let the boards slip and shift. “No, thanks,” he said. “I can wait a few days.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” She shook out her hands as Theodosius reached for another nail. He accidentally knocked over the container and scattered nails everywhere. Donna reached over to help pick them up.

Close to them, Verdant limped along with Hryb. It looked like he was scolding the younger man for something, but they were speaking too quietly to be heard. Hryb shook his head angrily and pointed to a guard tower, and Verdant pointed a finger at him as he said something undoubtedly scathing. While the youngest prisoner’s extreme views on the past agreed perfectly with the former Peacekeeper’s, his odd behaviour grated on everyone. 

“I wish he’d actually work,” Donna said. “It’s not fair that he slacks off and we pick up the slack.” She dumped a handful of nails into the container, an empty instant coffee tin that still had its paper label. When they went to put it back, she’d tear off the paper and use it for her notes.

Theodosius hesitantly ran his hand across the ground, checking to see if there were any more nails he had missed. “I don’t see any,” Donna said.

“Me neither, but what if there’s one I missed? I’d rather not step on it in a month’s time when we’re all barefoot.” He shook off his hand and carefully took a nail from the container. “I can’t believe he thinks he can just do whatever and get away with it,” Theodosius complained about Hryb. “Honestly, it makes me wish rationing hadn’t ended. Maybe then he’d actually pull his weight. He’s the youngest around, and also the laziest!”

The boards were now attached to each other, so Donna just had to keep the entire construction from sliding. “It’s not like he was particularly productive before, though,” she pointed out as Theodosius began to hammer in the nail. “Now, he just knows he doesn’t even have to pretend.”

Each tap of the hammer drove the nail a little bit deeper. “I can’t believe he thinks he has any kind of moral superiority over us,” Theodosius hissed, twisting his arm to get a more comfortable position. The nail was almost fully hidden in the wood.

“It’s insane!” Donna agreed. “My children act more mature than him.” A final tap, and Theodosius reached for the final nail, chuckling.

“From what I’ve seen, that’s true,” he said. “What sort of example is he going to be for his son?” Theodosius added sarcastically. Hryb had a two-year-old son, who had been born eight months after his arrest (resulting in many jokes about perfect timing). So far, he was still refusing point-blank to see his family and giving odd reasons why. To Donna and Theodosius, they all seemed completely devoid of sense. Most of the other prisoners who had children agreed with them, but some said they understood his decision to not remind his family of his disgrace. However, those who agreed with Hryb tended to be the parents of long-grown children who were likely to not want the legacy of their parents hanging over them. Everyone who had young children disagreed. No matter how awkward the visits, the idea of your child growing up without knowing you at all was even more unpleasant.

Theodosius’ barb had an obvious answer. Hryb wouldn’t be an example to his son at all. Donna said as much. “I don’t think it would be much of a loss for the son, though,” she said. “Hryb just can’t face reality. Imagine what he writes in his letters!”

Final nail driven in, they put the corner into position. Theodosius took another board and placed it on the other end of the longer board to make a blocky ‘C’ sort of shape, and Donna grabbed a bracket and nail from the containers before picking up the hammer from the ground. With her left hand, she held the nail in place, which held the bracket dangling from the tip. She carefully hit the nail with the hammer. Each tap made the board shift slightly, so the nail barely entered the wood. Theodosius struggled to keep it from shifting. “And he had the gall to ask me about how Cassius and Marc were doing!” Theodosius’ twin sons were nearly three, and bringing them for visits was a chore for Cynthia, as more than one person could visit at a time only if they were a parent with a child small enough to hold all the time. One three-year-old was small enough, but still a chore. Two? Well, that was infinitely more difficult.

“How are they doing?” Donna asked, slowly driving the nail in deeper. It was now secure enough for her to switch to holding the bracket in the correct position. The metal was cold against her skin, but the air was pleasantly cool. Spring was in full swing, and Donna couldn’t wait for the green carpet of grass that would soon cover the parts of the yard that weren’t vegetable beds. 

“Nothing new since the last visit, but they did send me a photograph.”

“Of everyone?” Dem had sent her a family photo shortly after the New Year. It was hard to wrap her mind how much everyone had grown, especially Octavius, whom she hadn’t seen since before her arrest.

“No, just the children.” Donna finished hammering in the nail and settled back, reaching for a new one. “ _My_ children,” Theodosius clarified. Both Dem and Cynthia tended to refer to all of the children living in the household as ‘the children’, which sometimes ended up confusing Donna. “They’ve really grown. It’s hard to believe sometimes.”

“Well, that’s what children do,” Donna said in an attempt at levity. She had already missed so much of her children’s lives, and would miss even more eventually.

Theodosius shook his head. “Yes, but it’s different-” He cut off as Kim walked up to them. “Hello,” he said instead.

Kim squatted down next to them. “Hello,” she said. “Would you like some help with...whatever this is called?”

“Of course,” said Donna, gesturing with the hammer at the frame.

“We’ve been calling it the frame,” Theodosius said. Donna resumed the hammering, but this time, the board shifted less and it went much faster. They didn’t resume their conversation, working in silence.

Donna quickly finished securingthe bracket. Now, it was time for the final board. They carefully shifted the frame around to make sure that it was aligned properly, and Theodosius hopped over it onto the future vegetable bed to have a better angle. They’d need to add more soil to the bed before planting. What was this bed even supposed to be for? She’d have to ask. While the prison administration officially decided what could and could not be planted (Donna imagined the directors arguing over how many packets of onion seeds were needed), the prisoners who had gardened before tended to take charge of everything and order everyone else around.

With Kim’s help, it went much faster. The frame was soon put together, the stakes - hammered in. The three stepped away to admire the handiwork. It looked much neater now. “Who came up with this idea, anyway?” Theodosius asked. “Last year, everything went just fine without those frames. Although I can see how they will make life easier.”

“Oh, that was Vartha,” Kim said. “He mentioned it a few days ago, when we were working indoors.”

“I suppose we’ll have to thank Vartha, then,” Theodosius said sincerely. “The edges were really hard to work with before when the soil could slip down. The frames will solve that problem.” Donna made noises of assent as she wondered what they would do next. More frames? It seemed likely. She wanted to ask Theodosius if he was feeling better now, but didn’t want to say it in front of Kim.

“We should start another frame,” she said instead. “There’s a lot left.”

\------------------------

“You know,” Theodosius said hesitantly, “it’s boring, just walking around in a circle.”

Donna snorted. “We don’t exactly have anything else to do here.” The sun was slowly beginning to head in the direction of setting, casting everything in a soft glow that was somehow different than the morning, even though the only difference was the direction the shadows faced.

“I had an idea just now,” he said in a tremulous voice. “It’ll make the walking less boring.”

They passed by the frames they had just built. The beds looked much fancier with them. “What is it?”

“I’m not going to just walk aimlessly,” Theodosius said, raising his head and trying to look beyond the prison walls. “I’m going to walk home. And then I’ll keep on going.”

“Keep on going where?” Donna asked as they walked closer to the wall. She could make out the guards in their tower sitting at their machine guns, barrels seeming to point directly at the two of them.

Theodosius shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. Maybe visit the Districts. Or go to another country. It would be nice to go abroad, don’t you think?”

“Tell me when you get there,” she said. “I’d love to get more news from outside.”

Moving a pebble from one pocket to another to mark one loop, Theodosius didn’t answer, only staring upwards as if trying to see what lay beyond the wall.

\--------------------

Keys jangled in the lock. Dr. Chu was here! Donna closed the book she had been reading, a small tome of philosophy, and put it on her table. When the psychologist entered, clipboard in hand as always, Donna waved slightly to her. 

“Good afternoon, Female Nine,” she said.

“Good afternoon,” Donna answered. The psychologist gave Donna the fidget ball, and she eagerly began to knead it.

“How are you today?” Dr. Chu asked.

Donna shrugged, squeezing the ball between two fingers and feeling the little rubber spheres roll across. “Theodosius wasn’t feeling well this morning,” she said, “but he got a bit better as the day went on.”

“What was wrong?” Dr. Chu wrote something down. Donna wondered if the entire medical staff would pore over the notes, trying to get some sort of key insight into his mind.

As Donna gave the ball another squeeze, it tore at the top, sending several little rubber balls flying. Before she could say a word, Dr. Chu handed her another ball, identical to the old one, except for the colour. “It’s no problem,” she said. “I’ve got plenty. They do tend to tear at the part where they’re sealed.”

Heart hammering, Donna gently moved her fingers over the new, green ball. “I thought I had ruined everything,” she said. Feeling panicky and anxious, she got up and began to pick up the little balls. It wouldn’t do to have them lying around during a search. She gathered them in her hand and handed them over to Dr. Chu. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Chu said. “Now, what were we talking about?” she asked, even though Donna was fairly sure that she had everything written down on her clipboard.

“I was just saying that Theodosius didn’t look too good this morning,” Donna said, rolling the ball hesitantly between her palms. “The commotion with Townsend woke him up. Do you know how he is, by the way?”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen against the clipboard. “Not very well,” she said softly. “I’m afraid the prognosis is quite bad.”

When Donna separated out one little ball, the rubber of the big ball stretched and became transparent. She could see each little flake of glitter, as well as see her fingers through the ball. “Well, we all knew it was going to happen,” she said, unsure of what exactly she was feeling. “Townsend himself knew he wasn’t going to live long.”

“And what about you?”

Donna shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it.” She had never really _felt_ anything about Townsend’s likely death, but how could she explain it without sounding heartless? She dug her thumb into the ball. “I guess I was just...resigned?” That seemed a good way to express it. “I knew that his prognosis was bad, so I just didn’t let myself feel anything.”

“That is valid,” said Dr. Chu. “It can be heartbreaking to have one’s hopes dashed, and it is common to brace oneself for the worst.”

“I suppose.” There was a pause. “I just don’t want things to change.” Another pause, longer this time. Donna kneaded the ball, trying to articulate her thoughts. “He’s a lifer. He was supposed to be here for my entire sentence. I guess I’m just afraid that everyone will die, and I’ll be all alone during the last few years.” Stupid, of course, the former Peacekeepers would probably outlive her by a solid decade or two despite being that much older, but she couldn’t shake off the irrational fear of being left alone. “It’s strange, because I don’t really get along with them.”

“And what of Theodosius?”

Rolling the ball down the back of her hand, Donna didn’t even pause to think before answering. “I wouldn’t be able to live without him,” she said.

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “And what if you had to?” she asked in a quiet but penetrating voice.

Just contemplating the question made Donna feel sick. Her heart felt squeezed by an icy fist and breathing suddenly became difficult. She sat back, crossing her legs and trying to think and not think at the same time.

“That’s like asking me how I would feel if my husband died,” she eventually said. “I don’t want to answer that question.” Dr. Chu nodded and wrote something down. She spent what felt like a solid minute writing. “What are you even writing?” Donna asked, exasperated.

“Observations, mostly,” the psychologist said lightly. “I promise that it will remain confidential.”

“I know,” Donna said. Dr. Aurelius and Dr. Mallow had never pretended at confidentiality, but then again, she had not expected back then to still be around when they published their findings. The book was apparently coming out soon. 

Dr. Chu finished writing. “Now, how has your week been?”

“Six days,” Donna said. “And it was alright. It’s planting season. I think we’ll plant potatoes again on our patch.” What else had happened? “My father’s going to visit soon, if he can borrow a car from a friend of his.”

“That’s good. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Uh, before the sentencing.” Donna twisted the ball with her hands, watching the little balls move and shift.

Dr. Chu wrote something down. Donna hoped she wasn’t doodling to look like she was doing something. “What do you hope you’ll get out of the visit?” she asked.

It was a simple question, but Donna had no idea how to answer it. “I didn’t really think about that,” she said. “It was more so my father could see me again. He hasn’t seen me in years. Even my mother visited once, but that went badly. She couldn’t stand it, and left early.”

“Still, I’m sure there’s something you hope you’ll get out of the visit.”

Donna shrugged, irritated that the psychologist wouldn’t let her change the topic. “I don’t know.” She fiddled with the ball. “I’m actually really nervous. He’s ashamed of me. How are we going to talk one-on-one?”

“How did your last visit go?” Dr. Chu asked, adjusting her kerchief, the one spot of brightness in the room.

“It wasn’t one-on-one,” Donna explained. The memories weren’t pleasant, but the psychologist was duty-bound to pretend to not judge. “Shortly before the sentencing, we were allowed practically unlimited family visits. My parents always went together, but my father seldom talked.” She shrugged weakly. “That was the last visit I had in the jail. I tried to prepare them for my potential death, but I think I just terrified them instead.” Donna kneaded the ball with more force, irritated that she was being made to rehash this all over again. “If you want to know more, just ask Dr. Aurelius. He talked to me for the better part of an hour after that.”

“I would like to-” 

Donna cut the psychologist off. “Yes, I know, you want to know what I think of it now.” She dug her thumbs into the ball. “ _I_ don’t want to think about it now, though.”

“You need to be able to confront the past,” Dr. Chu said kindly but sternly. “Is something wrong? You’re normally quite comfortable talking about the past.”

Was something wrong? “I guess I’m just not feeling well,” she said. The air in the cell felt stuffy. But was that just her imagination? Dr. Chu had explained, over and over, that feeling short of breath was a symptom of her anxiety and she wasn’t actually in danger of suffocating. Still, though, the air scraped at her throat until she pulled down the collar of her shirt, which didn’t help. She felt even worse.

The icy fist was back, sending tendrils through her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe! Her hands and feet felt cold, and her breath came in desperate pants. Her heart was hammering away so fast, it was painful. Donna swung her legs over the side of her bed, head between her knees. Control breathing. Focus on the ball. She gave it a weak squeeze, reassuring herself that it was still there. Her breaths were still wheezy, but they weren’t out of control anymore.

“I’m alright,” she said awkwardly, sitting up. “I don’t know what happened there. Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Dr. Chu rushed to reassure her. “You handled that really well.” Donna was sceptical that anxiety attacks were something that could be handled well at all, but it was nice to be praised for something. She smiled and nodded in gratitude.

“Um, thank you,” she said.

Dr. Chu began to write at the speed of light for some reason. Donna was confused. How did she get so much out of the most banal things? She had just said ‘thank you’, how could that be turned into a paragraph’s worth of observations? Donna flopped back against the wall, playing with the ball and breathing deeply as the psychologist wrote and wrote. Finally, she stopped.

“Can you continue the conversation or would you like to take it easy for the rest of this session?” the psychologist asked.

If she asked to take it easy, would the medical staff think she had debilitating anxiety? And what if the information leaked beyond the prison walls? “I’m alright,” she said.

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “This is fully confidential,” she repeated. “If you are in a bad state now, just say so. I promise you will feel much better if you don’t push yourself beyond what you can do.”

Donna shook her head. “No, no, I can do it,” she insisted.

“Are you sure?” she asked. Slightly irritated, Donna nodded. “Very well then. What do you expect to get out of your father’s visit?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I even agreed to it. He’s so disappointed in me. I don’t know why he agreed to it!” What must it be like for her poor father to watch her drag the name through the dirt?

“Does he still love you, though?”

What sort of question was that? “Yes,” she snapped. There was a pause. “I think I see what you’re getting at. I guess he just wants to make sure I’m alright in here.” Donna kneaded the ball, picking the right words. “He always wanted the best for my brother and I, you know. That’s why he always had all those arguments with Alex. He thought Alex was sabotaging himself, not doing what was best. So even now, he wants to know all about how I’m doing. I guarantee you,” she laughed slightly, “that his first question will be if I’m eating well.”

“And what will you get out of the visit?”

“I guess I just want to make sure he’s alright. Letters can only express so much.” There was a pause. Donna pulled at the translucent rubber casing of the ball. “And I want to see him. I just want to see my father again.”

Finally having gotten her answer, Chu began to write. The quiet rasp of pen on paper was soothing. Donna wished she had a pen like that. Hers was flexible, and a pain to write with. She was used to it by now, but seeing Chu use a normal one reminded her that most people used pens that didn’t make writing a chore. She had never thought about it that way before, but now that the thought was in her mind, it wouldn’t leave. “Can I use your pen for a second?” she asked before she could think about what she was saying.

Chu made a sad face. “I’m sorry, no.”

“Forget I asked,” Donna said, feeling oddly disappointed. Even in the little things, her freedom was restricted.

\---------------

After the psychologist left, Donna read a book about Northern Africa for a while, before coming up with an idea for her diary entry.

_02/04/78 During Dr. Chu’s visit, I realized that I haven’t written with a normal pen for years now. Ever since being arrested, I’ve been using flexible prison pens that are impossible to commit suicide with or use as a weapon. I asked Dr. Chu to use her pen, but she said no. Even in the little things, I’m restricted! I suppose I should have known that already, but today really brought it home. Not even a pen, not even for a few seconds. All these little things are in a way the worst part of imprisonment. Who on the outside could imagine all these petty rules that bind you up in kilometres of thread, limiting you not only in your motions, but in your most ordinary actions, such as filling in a sudoku or combing your hair? The pen I use is difficult to grip properly even with fully functioning fingers like mine, and you need to hold it in a very specific way to be able to write at all. Even the slightest tilt to the side, and only rubber touches the page. It’s frustrating! Today, I watched Dr. Chu’s pen dance across the clipboard, and for the first time, I realized that most people use normal pens. It never quite registered for me that we use different writing utensils. I suppose that is the sort of self-centeredness that it is easy to slip into, assuming that everyone else does the same thing as you and in the same ways even if proof to the contrary is literally right in front of you. However, when one’s life is so different from the norm, that can lead to some very dangerous misconceptions. Perhaps that was always one of the main issues with me. An inability and unwillingness to comprehend that things were indeed different for others, because I simply felt no need to consider the situation from the other person’s viewpoint._

Donna wondered if she should add some thoughts about something else, but she had written about Townsend and Theodosius and everything else many times before, and she’d probably save writing about her father’s visit for the evening after the actual visit. That would need to be one of the actual clandestine letters, not just a diary entry. She folded the piece of paint can label and placed it in the side of her sock. It would be visible if a guard came in for a search and merely stood very close by, but the searches were extremely lazy. Most of the time, they didn’t even shift any of the papers on the table. 

Diary entry dealt with, Donna went back to her book. It was a bit too advanced for her, constantly referring to events and people she wasn’t familiar with, but she understood most of it. It was a history book about the reconstruction after the Cataclysm that focused on Northern Africa, and it made Donna wish she could get books about the history of Panem. She had requested something, but they still hadn’t found something that was both accurate and stopped before the First Rebellion. It intrigued Donna, why had Panem gone the way it did? Northern Africa was prosperous and democratic. What had gone different for them after the Cataclysm? Donna now knew what had happened, but without the contrast with Panem, the book wasn’t as useful as it would have been otherwise.

Finishing a chapter, she lay it on the table opened on the page she was on (it wouldn’t become damaged unless she forced the pages flat), and switched to the book of number puzzles. There were very few remaining. Soon, she’d need to get a new one. Donna worked her way through a nonogram until the pattern emerged, two flowers. She admired the picture for a while, closed the book, and got ready for bed.


	17. First Time

In the mirror, Donna could see that her hair was now streaked with thin strands of white. She wished she could touch them, as if that would prove it better than seeing, but the orderly was running clippers over her head.

“Done,” she said, turning them off. Donna brushed off the hair clippings from her clothes and felt at her now-even shorter hair. It felt a little bit different, but was that just the result of the haircut? She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to remember what she had looked like before. It was impossible. The only image she had in her mind was the one looking back at her from the mirror. 

She adjusted her shirt, trying to look neat, but soon gave up, as nothing could make it stop looking like a sack. Donna stood up and was led by a single guard down the hall. They passed Oldsmith, who was going to be meeting with his sibling today. The older man was running his hands through his hair, over and over.

Donna nodded to Oldsmith as they passed by each other. A turn in the corridor, and there was now nobody in eyeshot. She had found out recently that the cameras in the prison had all been removed, and the audio-recording equipment remained only in the visiting room. Odd, that the administration would want to make sure there was no visual evidence of what was going on when there wasn’t anything going on that one would expect a prison administration to want to hide.

The guard was a woman Donna had never seen before, stocky with the olive skin and grey eyes that had once been common in Twelve. She was looking around hesitantly, as if afraid that all of the Directors would appear at any moment. Donna felt a thrill of anticipation. Was this guard another sympathetic one? She waited with bated breath as they walked down the chilly corridor, the guard’s boots loudly echoing in the emptiness. Finally, the guard took something out of her pocket, and put it into Donna’s. She felt at it with her fingers. A cookie, most likely. Donna hid her smile, and whispered thanks to the guard. The woman from Twelve remained silent, but inclined her head slightly.

They were getting close. Donna tried once again to smooth out her clothing. She adjusted the neck of the shirt and made sure that it was tucked in properly. The last time she had seen her father, she had at least been wearing an actual outfit, not a shapeless shirt tucked into trousers that were closer to sweatpants than anything else. Hopefully, her father wouldn’t be too shocked. He had always reminded her of the importance of dressing well, and Donna had always ignored him. Although he’d probably not bother being upset at the state of the clothing when there was a large ‘9’ painted on each knee. Donna wished there was a way to hide the numbers, stark white against dark-grey fabric.

Straight ahead was the door to the room. Donna ran her hands over her hair one last time, but it was so short, there wasn’t any point to it. If it stuck out, it stuck out. The guard opened the door, and ushered Donna in. Same as always, there were four guards, two men and two women from different Districts, sitting on their chairs along the wall and looking very bored. And her father on the other side of the panel.

He looked better than he had two years ago, that was for certain. Back then, he had clearly been very ill, grey-skinned and drawn. Now, though, his eyes were bright and he sat up straight, smiling widely as he saw Donna enter. She sat down on the uncomfortable chair, waving a greeting.

“Good day,” she awkwardly said, looking down at her hands.

“Oh, straighten up!” he said lightly. “Let me look at you!” Donna straightened up, placing her hands on the table. “You look so much better than the last time I saw you!” Was that tears in his eyes? Her father had discouraged her from working for the Games and tried to convince her that sticking to conventional civil assignments was the better option. In their household, the Games had only been on for the mandatory viewings, and even then, the television had stood in an empty room. Her father had never approved of the Games. What must it be like for him to be tarnished by association with her?

Donna smiled with one side of her mouth, trying to summon up some happiness. “I was going to say the same thing to you. You’ve recovered, then?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. I’m right as rain. That husband of yours insists I’ll live a hundred years.” Her father shook his head, his typical reaction to anything Dem said or did. “You look so much better now. Very healthy.”

Donna glanced at the guards. Was talking about health also forbidden, or was its absence specifically the banned topic? When Verdant had tried to write to his old comrade about his leg getting worse, the administration had forced him to re-write his letter, which made the former Peacekeeper inquire icily if they were planning on forbidding him to think about his disability next. While Donna was fairly sure that the administration wasn’t planning on banning thinking yet, they could strike down any line of conversation or any letter than veered too close to forbidden topics.

That also confused her. While it made sense that they wouldn’t have wanted prisoners to be able to complain during the severe rationing, what was the reason for it now? The food situation was perfectly adequate, in Donna’s opinion, though no better than that by any stretch of the imagination. The prisoners were all at a healthy weight, though in the bottom range of it.

“Well, yes, I suppose I’m alright,” Donna said, trying to change the topic. “Work is very fulfilling.”

“That’s good,” said her father. “If you enjoy what you’re doing - well, that’s all that matters.” Donna blinked, taken aback. Her father had pushed her to study engineering with such zeal, she didn’t remember a time before she knew she would be one. There was an awkward pause.

“And how is everyone else?” she asked, changing the topic again.

Her father seized on the idea. “Everyone is good,” he said. “The children are doing well in school - well, Donna’s doing the same as last year. We’re at wit’s end trying to figure out a way to make her marks improve. I do not understand. She does not skip class, I’ve asked her teachers. She does all her homework correctly. She spends all her free time reading. She doesn’t leave assignments until the last minute, but they’re barely adequate, and does terribly on tests no matter how much we try to make her study.” Her father finished pouring out his frustrations and leaned back in his chair, sighing.

“But she’s only in grade eight!” Donna said. “I don’t remember ever needing to do any studying on top of homework back then.”

Her father shrugged. “It is a mystery. I am very concerned for next year. How will she do in highschool if she cares so little now?”

One of the guards looked to be asleep. “I’m sure she’ll improve when she needs to,” Donna said. “Maybe for now, she knows she can pass with no effort, so she doesn’t put any in.”

“But she does all her homework!” her father said, sounding more confused than anything. “If she’s willing to do that, why not try a little bit more on the assignments? She clearly knows the material, but you wouldn’t be able to tell it from what she hands in and calls an essay!”

Donna scratched her head, trying to compare that with her own experiences at that age. Nothing matched up. The first time she had ever slacked off in any way, shape, or form had been in university, where she had avoided doing homework in courses she particularly hated. Before that, though, she had pathologically wanted to please her parents and never let her marks lower by a hair.

“Well, as long as she’s passing, it doesn’t really matter,” Donna said. “She’s going to an ordinary highschool next year, she’ll only need to start worrying about marks in grade eleven.” 

Her father rubbed at his face. “But if she builds bad habits now, she won’t be able to get into the advanced classes! How will she apply to university then?” He looked nearly as devastated as he had been when he had first realized that he only had one child he could count on to carry on the family tradition.

Sighing, Donna tried to figure out a way to reassure her father. “Dad. Don’t worry. There’s still plenty of time. Don’t pressure Donna, alright? She’s under enough pressure already, being the oldest and all.”

“Sorry,” said her father, shaking his head. “Look at me, blathering all about problems you can do nothing about. You probably think we’re all struggling. Everything’s fine, except for that. We’re a bit crowded, true, but we all get along well. That husband of yours went out for coffee yesterday with Cynthia while your mother and I watched over the children.”

“Dem doesn’t drink coffee,” Donna pointed out. “You know that!” He was extremely wary of anything even mildly mind-altering or stimulating. Donna knew that his intense distrust of anything that could alter his brain had something to do with his parents, but not much more than that.

Her father laughed. “Well, caffeine-free tea, then. Or that mango-melon juice of his. In any case, they get along well. The kids don’t antagonize each other anymore, and Lars has stopped dragging in newspapers.” Donna already knew that from letters, but it was nice to have someone else confirm it.

“Well, it’s good that you’re all doing well,” Donna said. “I have that photo of you on New Year’s on my table. The kids have grown like weeds.”

“Very short weeds,” her father said with a laugh. For now, he towered over everyone else in the household by at least a head, but Theodosius’ children would overtake him eventually. The two men were roughly of a height for now, but her father was shrinking. “I blame that husband of yours,” he added in a teasing voice. Donna had always been aware that she and Dem were considered to be an odd couple by most, he being maybe a centimetre shorter than her (depending on hairstyle), but it had never made sense to her. A short man was easier to kiss.

“Come on, Dad, you know the house would have fallen apart at the seams long ago if not for Dem,” she retorted in a light voice.

Her father nodded, turning serious. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for him and Cynthia. He acts like it’s nothing, but I can see that he’s strained. It’s better now that Octavius is a little bit older, but it’s still difficult.” Her youngest would be turning four in June. “Oh, and here I am, blathering about problems again. Let’s talk about something more cheerful. How are you doing?”

Donna was taken aback by the implication that her life could be described as cheerful.

“I’m doing well,” she said. “My sign language is decent, I can hold an actual conversation.”

“It’s nice that you’re learning something new,” said her father. “Can you say something in it right now?”

One of the guards, a man from One, spoke up. “I have to be able to clearly see your hands.” Donna turned slightly towards him, raising her hands to neck-level.

“Hello,” she signed. “My life is good. The weather is nice. It is sunny outside. Are you liking life?” Most of her vocabulary would have gotten her shouted at to change the topic, so she was stuck with her limited day-to-day phrases.

“Looks very nice,” her father said appreciatively. “Like your hands are dancing. What did you...say? Sign? What’s the right word?”

“I use both words interchangeably, but I’m fairly sure that’s wrong,” Donna said. “I just said ‘hello, how are you, the weather is nice’.”

“That’s nice. Maybe I should learn it, too, so once my hearing goes, I can still talk to people properly,” he joked.

“Dad, there’s hearing aids for that type of deafness.”

“You never know.”

Donna smiled slightly. “True. So, how are the other children doing?”

“Just yours, or Cynthia’s as well?”

“Just mine, for now,” she said. Her father immediately launched into a lengthy rant about every single one of the children’s achievements in the past two years. Donna wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise until, glancing nervously at the clock, her father wound down his monologue.

“Well, I suppose that’s it,” he said with a slightly raspy voice. There was a slight pause.

“It was very nice seeing you again,” Donna said. “I’m happy you’re all doing so well.”

“Time is almost up!” said the guard from Five, an older man with pale skin and white hair.

“I’m happy you’re doing well,” her father said.

“Time is almost up!”

“I’m glad you came to visit.”

“Time’s up!” said the guard. Her father stood up from his chair and waved at her wordlessly. Donna did the same. One of the guards led him out the door as he kept on waving for as long as he could. 

\----------------------

Back in the cell block, two of the women were cleaning a few of the cells in anticipation of the new prisoners who would be brought in soon. There were four cells being made ready for habitation, for the four women who would soon be occupying them. The sentences had been pronounced days ago, and they would be carried out soon.

“I can’t believe they’re not telling us anything,” grumbled Jade. The former Peacekeeper swirled her mop in a bucket as the “they” sat at their customary desk, textbooks scattered everywhere. “Oh, good day, Mrs. Blues,” she said, noticing Donna for the first time. “How was your visit?”

“Good day, Ms. Jade,” she answered unenthusiastically. Now that the visit was over, Donna realized how much it had exhausted her. She didn’t want to talk, she wanted to sit down and not think.

“Did the visit go badly?” asked Smith, the one from the Steelworks. The older woman leaned out from one of the cells to ask the question, rag dangling from fist.

Donna shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?” said Jade in a worried tone. “You look tired.”

“I _am_ tired,” Donna grumbled, picking up a mop from where it had been leaning against the wall. “Now, what is there that still needs to be done?”

“We haven’t done that cell yet,” Smith said, pointing at the cell furthest down the corridor and farthest from the guards. Donna nodded thanks and went inside. 

The cell was identical to hers, but empty and dusty. Donna swept her mop over the floor before realizing that she needed to do the table first, as all the dust that would be swept off it would end up on the floor anyway. Too lazy to get a rag, Donna washed the table with her mop. Whoever would be living here would have to clean it themselves when they got here, anyway. Donna was just getting rid of the obvious dust.

Since the cell had a much smaller area than the corridors Donna usually cleaned, she had to go very slowly to not be done almost immediately. Deliberate, meticulous movements. She went over everything twice, even the clothes hooks. The sight of them irritated her slightly. The new prisoners wouldn’t have to deal with the ignominy of having to beg the administration for something to hang your jacket from. On the other hand, though, they would have an extra year in jail behind them, with all its discomforts. A whole extra year of walks in a small concrete cylinder with a grille on top, of the silence rule being enforced extremely tightly, conversation only being allowed during lunch on days when court was in session, four or five defendants sitting around a table with a mental health expert always present, recorder in hand? No amount of clothes hooks or newspapers could make that the more enjoyable option.

A small part of Donna saw the logic in those thoughts. The rest of her longed for guards that smuggled in newspapers. She’d need to ask the new prisoners when they arrived for updates. The Steelworks people had brought news, and it had been discussed endlessly, but by this point, the outside world had probably moved on. If only her father had been able to tell her what was truly going on outside the four or five or however many sets of walls that separated her from the rest of the world!

As Donna mopped the walls, motivated only by a vague desire to stretch out the task for as long as possible, she replayed the conversation in her mind, over and over. She regretted not asking more questions about the children instead of nodding along politely. Her father probably thought she didn’t care! Donna cringed, imagining him thinking that of her, and she cringed even harder when she realized that she forgot to ask how Alex was doing. She asked about him in every letter, but still. Would be be upset by it? Donna knew that she had no idea, but her brain kept on coming up with horrible scenarios. 

What if Alex thought she was angry about the house? She was, of course, furious that Alex had gotten everything and she - nothing even though he was now back to his normal life of borrowing money and spending it all on nonsense (though, being safely ensconced at Twelve with a stable job, he was still doing much better than ever before), but she had hidden it in her letters, not wanting to strain the relationship further. The hardest thing to do was to not demand he repay the money he owed her to Dem, so that her husband could have some semblance of savings, but Donna was fairly sure that Alex’s job simply didn’t pay enough to make that kind of request seem reasonable. Apparently, he was doing everything he could. What that everything actually _was_ remained a mystery to Donna that nobody was willing to uncover.

“Female Nine!” snapped a voice outside. “Are you finished yet?” Donna nearly dropped her mop from shock. She leaned out the door, doffing her cap.

“Uh, yes,” she said, heart hammering.

“Then why are you standing there?” asked the guard, a very young woman from Nine, in a slightly arrogant tone. Donna tried to speak, but was cut off before she opened her mouth. “In any case, we’re done here,” she said in a much softer tone, hunching over slightly. “You three, go wash the third floor corridor in this wing. Take your things with you.”

Donna wanted to ask what part of the corridor was meant to be washed, as each corridor had locked doors at regular intervals and getting from one section to another was extremely difficult. Fortunately, the other guard, an older woman from Three, led the way. Donna carried the mop in one hand and a bucket of water - in another. It was extremely heavy and keeping it from banging against her leg as she walked up the stairs was a painful task. Her fingers screamed in protest, but the guard showed no signs of giving them a break. Gritting her teeth, Donna kept on walking. Just a little bit more, and there would be only one set of stairs left. Last landing. Eleven more steps. Seven. Five. Just two more. Just a little bit of the corridor left.

When the guard told them to put down their things and get to work, Donna nearly dropped the bucket. She slowly unclenched her hand, fingers refusing to obey. She leaned the mop against the wall to massage the fingers of one hand with the other, but the mop clattered to the floor. The prisoners who had already been working in that corridor looked up at the noise. Feeling slightly angry, Donna bent down to pick up the mop, one hand still smarting with pain.

“Good day,” she said calmly.

Kim, who stood the closest to her, returned the greeting and moved to stand closer to her. The relatively young woman got along well with Donna, as long as their respective crimes or alleged lack thereof was not mentioned. “I heard you had a visitor today?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Donna said, mopping at a dry section of corridor. Why did they even wash the upper floors so often? Even if by some miracle the Supermax did eventually house that many prisoners, it wouldn’t be for years yet. The endless cleaning seemed to be against the administration’s ethos of productive work, but then again, who knew what sort of currents flowed there.

“And how was it?” Kim asked, leaning on her own mop. “It was your father, right?”

“As good as it could be,” Donna said, unwilling to elaborate further. Hopefully, she and Theodosius would be sent outside in the afternoon, so she would be able to discuss it with him them. “And yes, it was my father. He’s doing well.” Donna swept her mop along the bottom of the wall. There was no dirt to be seen.

\-----------------

She couldn’t get her father out of her head. Donna sat on her cot, extra sheet of paper given by the sympathetic guard hidden in one of her books, and tried to think of what to write as she chewed on the cookies Dem (and Donna; her eldest was now apparently interested in cooking) had sent. They were amazing, sweet and fun to chew. Pity there were so few, though. She had given one to Theodosius in the afternoon, leaving only two to herself. 

She wanted to send an illustrated postcard to her children, but the only thing she could picture was her father’s face. She had disgraced him. Her father had done everything he could to raise her with proper values, but the only time she had listened to him was when picking what program to major in.

All those subtle pleas to see reason. All those important people she had been introduced to under whom she could have worked, had she not aimed her sights higher than the sewers and overpasses of the Capitol. When he had told her of how roads and bridges connected people, she had been inspired to join the one organization that had dedicated itself to building them, even though it had only ever divided people and never - united. 

Suddenly, Donna knew what she was going to write to her children. A fairy tale her father had told her and Alex, to her mother’s irritation that even the fairytales her father told them were about engineering. 

_Once upon a time, two great cities stood on the opposing banks of a mighty river. None could swim across the river, and neither could a ship brave its treacherous currents. This was before humans had mastery over the skies, and the only way to make it from one city to the other was to make a long, long trip until the nearest crossing, a small sandbar transversing which was barely safer than daring to cross the river itself._

_Thus, the two cities were divided, even though they had everything in common. They spoke the same language (though with different accents), they produced the same things in their factories and workshops (though with some slight differences), they played the same games (though with different rules), they had the same wide boulevards and crooked alleys (though the layout of the streets was different). But the people of the cities did not speak to each other, what was made in the workshops of one city was not sold in the markets of the other, the children did not play their games together, and the people who knew the alleys of their city like the backs of their hands knew nothing about the great boulevards of the other._

_The cities exported the same goods, but the trade routes went in opposite directions. Even though only a river lay between the cities, goods would only go from one to the other following a long journey with many, many stops. The people, however, did all they could to be connected. Ideas darted from one city to another regularly, and so did news. Even in those days before the telephone, there were ways for people to communicate despite any obstacles placed in their way. The same political parties stood for election in the municipal governments, factory owners implemented the same innovations in their factories, journalists wrote the same things about the same events in the wider world, and people even became friends despite having never seen one another and knowing they never would._

_Time passed, and technology advanced with it. People began to think that maybe there should be a way for them to meet without going on a great trip. Maybe they should be able to talk to each other, sell their wares to each other, play their games together, and stroll down the boulevards and alleys of both cities as if they were both the streets of home. But how to make this dream possible? No person could swim across the river, no boat brave its currents._

_But then, two engineers, one from each city, came home from their studies in the great university of their nation’s capital city. There is a new technology of bridge-building, they said, one that will let us connect our two cities. They went down to the banks of the river, one on each side, and tested the soil to see where it would be best to build one. A perfect location was soon found, and proposals for construction announced. The people of the cities heard this, and were overjoyed._

_They threw themselves into their work with enthusiasm. The two cities raced to be the first to build their half of the bridge, but they both achieved their goals in the same day and same hour. The construction workers embraced, and the two cities were now connected._

_People walked from their city to the other, marveling at how different it was. They listened to the strange accents. They bought strange goods. They watched children play strange games. They strolled down strange alleys. And yet, it was all familiar, though tinged differently, like a bucket of mixed paint that has a drop more black than its neighbour. One city was home. The other simply wasn't._

_That was how it went for years and decades, until something unexpected started to happen. The two cities began to become one._

_Now, the municipal chapters of political parties united. Merchants sold their goods in the markets on both sides of the river. Journalists found themselves writing to twice the audience as before. Friends met up every day, simply because they could. And as for the cities? Their names were combined into one name, which soon graced the maps and atlases of the world._

_For there was only one city now. The bridge became the first of many, and it was the easiest thing in the world to get from one bank to the other, so much so that people hardly ever thought that the cities could have ever been two. And how could it be otherwise? the people thought. Of course, their city was one great city, even though it happened to have a river flowing through it. They had everything in common, after all._

_And thus, two cities who had been separated so utterly that the foot of a citizen of one city seldom stepped onto the soil of the other became so entwined, people would say that they were from one bank or the other the same way people in other cities say what neighbourhood they are from. They had dreamed of being connected, and they did everything they could to realize that dream. Why should people be separated from each other if they can reach out and connect instead? For, no matter how insurmountable the barriers, the human heart strains against isolation._

As Donna wrote, she realized for the first time that she had always seen the story in a different way than her father. She had always thought of it as the story of a bridge, nothing more. But her father had meant something else. The first list could have been a reference to the Districts and their enforced isolation. The second, though, was a definite reference to the Panem Donna had never known. How had her father even dared mention political parties with the situation being what it had been? That had been politically dangerous to even talk about. And the idea of entrepreneurs selling their products wherever they wanted, or of journalists who had freedom to write, or of friends who could meet up every day and not feel like they need to look over their shoulder - a fantastic world that was something children would have dreamed about, had they had the opportunity to find out that these concepts even existed.

In the barely-existing margins, she managed to cram in little illustrations. A river so wide, you couldn’t see the opposite bank when you stood on its shore. Stick figures of people building the bridge and of crowds walking across it after construction was over. The illustrations looked terrible, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. Hopefully, the children would understand and appreciate the story. She knew she hadn’t.

She squeezed in a line in the beginning, asking Dem to send her a note saying what the children thought of the story. She carefully folded the paper, hid it in her bra, and began to read her book.


	18. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this amazing drawing u/espionage_is_whatido made for the story! https://imgur.com/IUHw4Nv

Queuing for breakfast, Donna noticed that the guards looked extremely tense. That made her tense. She had not heard of anything serious happening, but that meant nothing. The warden was tapping her foot on the floor and glaring at Blatt with such fury, everyone looked away, not just Blatt. The four new women, only having arrived that night, looked even more anxious than the rest. Donna wanted to talk to them, but as soon as one opened her mouth, the warden demanded silence. 

In silence, the prisoners picked up their trays, ate, cleaned their cells, and went to work. Donna stepped outside with a feeling of relief. While the guards still looked very tense, they weren’t trying to enforce the silence rule out here. Donna noticed Theodosius stepping out, and waved him over. The two of them went to get their tools from the shed, and ask one of the seven new arrivals, a man labelled Thirty-Two, if he knew what was going on. 

While the other new arrivals were already at the centers of small groups, this man was alone. Donna had heard that one of them had been given a light sentence, allegedly for cooperating with the prosecution. This was probably him, then. Hopefully he would be nice to talk to. “Good morning,” Theodosius said. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Nothing good about it,” said the man glumly. He had some resemblance to Theodosius, with the same light skin, dark wide eyes, and dark curly hair, but he was shorter and looked to be a decade or so older. “I’m Carl Dimmers, by the way. The IDC gave up on the trials. They handed them over to the Capitol.”

“What?” Donna asked, shocked. “But they were already in process!”

“They’re still continuing the way they were,” Dimmers rushed to explain. “It’s just that the ones given prison terms won’t be joining us here.” He looked around, hunching more and more in on himself as he took in the length and breadth of the yard. “I’ve been hearing rumours that the IDC will be dissolved completely.”

Theodosius snorted disdainfully. “What’s there to dissolve?” he asked a plum tree. “They’ve got a new government in place, the Districts are all slipping away, and now there will be no more inter-District trials! What remains?” 

“Us,” Donna said, anxiety slithering through her chest. “This is all that remains of the IDC.” She waved a hand at the guards standing in twos at regular intervals.

Dimmers looked like he was about to have a panic attack. “Um, but where are all the other prisoners?” he asked. 

“What other prisoners?” Theodosius said. “We’re it. No more IDC trials means no more prisoners for the IDC prison.”

“Huh,” Donna said. So that was that. Sixty-five prisoners in a prison that had held nearly a thousand just a few years ago, and soon to be sixty-four when Townsend died.

Dimmers shook his head. “No, I mean, why are there so few people outside? Are they working indoors?”

Donna wanted to laugh at the man’s denial. “Townsend’s in the infirmary, but that’s it. There is nobody working inside today,” she said. 

Dimmers looked up to stare at the building. It did indeed look slightly absurd, hanging over the handful of prisoners that scurried about in its shadow. They stepped inside the shed, where Blatt and Best were re-attaching a spade to its handle.

“Good morning,” Blatt said, clearly recovered from the warden’s glare. “You three reckon we’ll be here same time next year? The Districts are tearing themselves away from each other.”

Donna reached for the twisty pitchfork, an odd corkscrew-like tool that made tearing chunks out of completely unworked ground easier. “If the Districts really fall out that badly,” she said, “they’ll just shoot us all before going home.” The euphoria of 76 was long gone, Districts now squabbling over everything from territory to trade with foreign countries. Nobody seriously though there could be actual conflict, but the impression Donna got was that Panem was now fourteen independent countries who occasionally consulted each other on important matters. The national government was struggling to keep them at least partially in line.

“Or they’ll hand us over to Thirteen,” Dimmers said, shuddering. 

Best shook his head. The elderly former Peacekeeper had never accepted his sentence. “They wouldn’t dare. Not if they don’t want outrage in Two. Or the Capitol.” Donna seriously doubted that the average Capitolian cared about them, with how the shouted insults still rang in her ears sometimes.

“You think they care about outrage?” Theodosius took a different angle of attack. 

“It’s the Districts who were outraged, anyhow,” pointed out Blatt. “They’re tired of this digging around in the past. It has gone on for too long, not letting the wounds close. The IDC had to relent in the face of that. It’s not like they were really united in the first place. They were united against us, but as soon as the sentences were read, that was it. There was nothing holding them together anymore. And even they recognize that it’s a bad idea to try government officials.” Donna wondered what she considered herself to have been. “You can’t have a nation where half the civil servants are behind bars.”

“The trials are still ongoing, though,” Donna said, “with the exact same prosecutors and judges and whatnot.”

Blatt dropped the screw she had been trying to fit into the spade handle and fumbled for it on the floor. “Yes, but the sentences should be lighter with the Capitol officially in charge of the proceedings. And they’ll probably release them in a few years, anyway.” The ongoing trials were of the ministers and government officials (including those who had retired decades ago), and of the District Affairs functionaries of a lower calibre. The IDC had also trawled through the educational and justice systems, firing everyone who had been involved with the regime in a way deemed criminal, but then it had re-hired all but the worst offenders due to the lack of cadres.

“You know what I think?” Dimmers said. “It’s not fair that all the blame was pushed onto the industrialists the way it was. We had no power to make our own decisions! It was all state-controlled. Honestly, this is scapegoating, pure and simple. A third of the people in here are former Peacekeepers!” Best nodded sharply. Donna felt slightly disappointed that Dimmers was just like everyone else when it came to this.

Holding the spade while Blatt screwed it together, Best started to go on about his favourite topic, delighted at having someone new to talk to. “You see?” he said. “The people who had the least choice in the matter are found the most guilty.” His tone was warmer now. “Of course, it was very different in the military than in civil industry, but the general principle remains the same. They want to look tough, but in reality, they are more concerned about practical considerations.”

“They don’t need us,” added Blatt, tightening the screw. “We’re convenient scapegoats. They’ll point to us and say how tough they are on alleged crimes against humanity, but if they actually need someone for their own purposes, they’re not going anywhere.” 

Donna gritted her teeth furiously. “Then why am I building flower beds instead of roads? I am a _professional_. I have skills any state needs, especially a rebuilding one. And they still stuck me here.”

Blatt finished fixing the spade and gave it a few experimental swings. “Really, what else did you expect, talking about shared responsibility the way you did?”

“That’s not what I said-”

“Then what did you say?” Best asked harshly. “You were the one sticking your neck into the noose. I’m sure the IDC was thrilled to have you two around. Is that mud on your knees from crawling in front of them?”

“All I said,” Theodosius cut in, standing up straight from leaning against the doorway, “was that people are still responsible for their actions even in an autocratic state - and when one represents an organization, there is automatically an assumption of some, though by no means all, responsibility for the actions of subordinates.” He tried to brush off dirt from his trouser knees, but it was worn into the fabric.

“So you consider yourself responsible for every excess of your ministry?” asked Blatt, whose tiny Ministry of Armaments had controlled the Institute for Genetic Research and was thus responsible for every single atrocity carried out there, the eyeless youth being one of the lesser ones.

“Did I say - ‘all’?” Theodosius parried. “I said ‘some’. People make their own decisions and carry them out without telling anyone.”

“Then why say you feel guilt for the firebombing of Twelve?” asked Best. Donna wanted to tear her hair out. “First you insist you weren’t at that conference in 74-”

“I _wasn’t!_ ”

“Then why the hand-wringing over Twelve?” snapped Best, pointing the spade at him. “I do not understand you. Either of you. You twist and weave when confronted with documents, but when it comes to something that you had nothing to do with and which wasn’t even brought up, you leap to explain how you feel personally responsible. Where is the logic?”

“You misinterpret and twist my words,” Theodosius said. “And you, too, were horrified by the destruction of Twelve.”

“Of course I was horrified,” Best said, “it was a terrible atrocity, but I don’t feel responsible for it even though I wasn’t!”

“Where are your words being misinterpreted?” asked Blatt. 

Renko walked into the shed and picked up a bucket. “Good morning, everyone,” he said. He turned to Dimmers, introduced himself, and shook the older man’s hand. As the former Peacekeeper left, bucket in hand, Best rose to his feet. 

“I suppose we should get to work, then,” he said sarcastically. “Can’t disappoint the guards, can we?” He and Blatt left, leaving Dimmers with Donna and Theodosius.

“What were we even here for?” Theodosius asked. Donna realized she was still clutching the twisty pitchfork. She hefted it in his direction. “And what else?”

“Well, we’re going to be making a completely new vegetable bed, right?” she tried to reason it out. “Buckets, for the grass. Normal pitchfork. Rake.”

Theodosius picked up two pitchforks. “Mr. Dimmers, would you like to work with us today? We’ll get done faster, you can give us all the news, and we’ll explain to you how things work here.”

Dimmers, who for the past while had been trying to meld with the shelves, slowly straightened out and took a pitchfork. “Of course,” he said hesitantly. “The guards explained all the rules to us already, though.”

“That would have been wardens,” Theodosius pointed out as Donna led the way towards the future vegetable patch. “They’re the ones who do the serious interacting with us. The ordinary guards watch over us when we work, but they’re technically forbidden from talking to us unless it’s an emergency. Of course, nobody actually obeys the silence rule, but if someone tells you to be quiet, you shut your mouth.”

“Or what?” Dimmers asked tremulously.

“Or they ream you out and threaten to toss you into total solitary for a day or two,” Donna said. 

Dimmers laughed sadly. “I suppose not working isn’t an option, then, if this is how we’re treated.”

Theodosius proceeded to explain in great detail exactly why everyone was so eager to work, including a description of how hungry he was in the first week here. Dimmers looked utterly horrified.

“Don’t worry,” Donna said, “that’s all over and done. Your life will be a lot easier now that you’re here. The searches are more lax, you can talk as much as you want, and if the weather’s good, we spend the entire day outside.” It was bright and sunny today, and Donna was grateful for her thin shoes.

“And if it isn’t?”

“We crochet. Even and odd numbers are in separate rooms, so we won’t be together then.” They came to the section of the yard they were supposed to be developing. Nobody had tried to steal it from them, so that was a plus. Since Donna was the one holding the twisty pitchfork, she took the first shift with it. She screwed it into the ground about halfway, and pulled it sideways with all her might. She lifted it up and shook out the soil. 

“Crochet, huh?” Dimmers said contemplatively. “Well, my parents were factory workers.” That had been quite a leap, then, from child of factory workers to, presumably, a high rank at a major corporation. “I’m not going to shy away from working with my hands. Both indoors and outdoors, for that matter.” Dimmers began to work with his pitchfork. “I’m going to get sunburnt, aren’t I?”

Theodosius immediately passed him the sunscreen that never left his trousers pocket. “Administration doesn’t want us to die of skin cancer.” Dimmers stabbed the pitchfork into the ground, took the sunscreen, and began to take off his shirt. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The number on your back needs to be visible.”

At that, Dimmers turned bright red for some reason. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, but otherwise restrained himself to rolling up his sleeves. “Of course it does,” he said bitterly. “Are they actually going to call me by a number for the next _five years_?” he added in a more desperate tone as he applied the sunscreen. So that was his sentence, then. Donna was irritated by his irritation.

“Yes, they will,” she said. “By the way, I apologize for the phrasing, but who _are_ you?”

Dimmers resumed digging with the pitchfork. “I was with United Electrical Works. Engineer, but I had more of a managerial position. Never left the Capitol in my life.”

“And who are the rest of you?” asked Theodosius from where he was on his knees, picking out the clumps of grass from the soil. “I’m sure you know who we all are.”

“Mostly, yes, but it’ll take a while for me to put names to faces,” said Dimmers, breathing heavily. He stopped digging. “As for us seven...” he paused for a second. “Alright, so the men are me and Andrews and Torres, they were plant leaders in Five, Three, and Eight, the only plant leaders who were sentenced by the inter-District tribunal. Well, except some of the Steelworks ones. They changed jobs a few times, but for the last few years, they were with Schelk’s fabric conglomerate. Both got eighteen years.” Unlike Schelk, who had been executed long ago. “The women are Melton who was head of the Games department of the UEW, she’s the only one who got a life sentence-”

“I know of her,” Donna said. 

Dimmers nodded. “That would make sense. Then there’s Paser the deputy production chief of the gem mines in One and Five, she got fifteen years. Cast and Heatherson were department heads at the UEW, they both got six years.”

“That’s a huge disparity,” Donna noticed. She paused her work to take a breather.

“I can take over,” Theodosius called out. Donna nodded gratefully and sat down next to the bucket. “That’s true, though. It was evenly spread out between acquittals, shorter sentences, longer sentences, and executions, but the longer sentences are very uneven if you look at just them.”

“The Districts want revenge,” Dimmers said. “We’re the faces of the industries they worked in. I suppose we should be grateful they didn’t just string all the bosses from the nearest lampposts.” He dug at the soil, straining to tear out a huge clod of dirt.

“Don’t dig so deeply,” Donna said. “Go a little bit at a time. There’s no rush, you’ll just wear yourself out and go even slower in the end. Here, I’ll take over, you weed.” She stood up, taking the pitchfork from Dimmers. He sat down and began to pull out the blades of grass.

“How _did_ that all go?” asked Theodosius. “Last time, there were some issues, but you arrived on schedule as far as I can tell.”

Dimmers tore out a clump of grass and brushed off the soil from the roots. “None of us knew when it was going to happen,” he said, tossing the grass into the bucket. “Not so bad for me. Can’t imagine what it was like for them.”

“Wait, really?” Donna asked. “We found out pretty much immediately. From five separate sources.” Theodosius nodded.

Another clump of grass went flying into the bucket. “They must have learned from their mistakes, then,” Dimmers said glumly. “Did they blast _Don’t Lock Me Away_ on repeat for you, too, or did they come up with that just for us?”

“Oh yes, they did. During the trial, they played it every morning for several months. Lieutenant Vance made them stop eventually, he didn’t want rumours going around.” Theodosius stabbed at the ground with his pitchfork, loosening the dirt further. “You didn’t hear it?”

“No,” shrugged the older man. “We were in different wings, after all. When the guards told us about you, it was mostly stories about something strange that someone had said or done.”

“Well, there was plenty of that going around,” Donna said, stepping on her pitchfork to make it sink deeper into the ground. There had been enough strange things going on to fill a weekly newspaper. “In any case, the only music will be coming from Smith, the one from Victors’ Affairs. She has been humming _The Hanging Tree_ for I don’t know how long.”

“She started out with pop songs, though, so at least you missed that,” Theodosius added as he twisted his pitchfork in deeper.

“So what do the guards do, then, if not blast music at all hours?”

“Study,” Donna said. “Read. Solve crosswords. Some of them are making amazing progress.”

“Study, huh?” Dimmers sounded sceptical. “You know, some of the guards at the jail couldn’t read or write at all.”

“That’s why they study,” Theodosius said. “A few of the guards here started out struggling to read their own name, and now they’ve got their faces in books like everyone else.”

Dimmers snorted. “Once, a new guard was assigned to watch over someone.” In jail, they had been constantly watched through a peephole in the door. “He was supposed to relieve another guard. Thing is, he couldn’t read our names on the signs.” He shook his head slightly. “He just wandered around the corridor, looking more and more desperate, until someone finally asked him what he needed.” Dimmers laughed slightly, but Donna and Theodosius didn’t.

“Just because they’re uneducated doesn’t mean they’re unintelligent,” Theodosius snapped. “They’ll tear you apart with a few words, and they won’t need to be able to write them down to do so.”

Dimmers looked at them strangely. “Well, if you say so.”

“No, really,” Donna insisted. “Just because they’re struggling with basic algebra doesn’t mean you can disrespect them. Some of them try to play it up to hide their insecurities, but they are all very smart people, and you won’t be able to trick them easily.” The piece of paper hidden inside Donna’s bra rubbed against her skin slightly, confirming her words to her.

“Look,” Dimmers said, “I’m not suicidal. I’ve been in jail for more than two years now, I know how things like that work. I’m not stupid enough to try to bully the guards, and I’m certainly not going to try to trick them.”

Where was this conversation even going? Donna decided to change the topic. “In any case, is there any interesting news?”

Dimmers rubbed a clump of grass between his hands to get rid of the soil. There was already a small patch of mostly grass-free, mostly loose dirt that just needed raking. “News? Nothing, really, besides the fact that the IDC is dissolving. A few countries have set up embassies, but I don’t know which ones.”

If countries were sending diplomats to Panem, that meant that the country was being accepted as a member of the international community. “That’s good, then,” Donna said. “We won’t be so isolated anymore.” 

“We did well enough for ourselves while isolated,” Dimmers argued. “I don’t think foreign influence is what we need.”

“ _Well enough_?” Theodosius asked incredulously. “You call the famine of 31-32 _well enough_?” While everyone who had actually been responsible for that particular horror had either died of old age or been helped into the grave long before the trial, the shaky footage that had been secretly taken by Peacekeepers and civilians had still been shown. It had been the first piece of video evidence demonstrated. The lights had dimmed, except for several that had pointed at the dock, illuminating Donna and the rest of the defendants. As the video began to play, it was them who had been the centre of attention, and not the horrific images on screen. Lit by bright lamps, hundreds staring at her, noticing every movement, every twitch, Dr. Aurelius writing in his notebook.

“That was just bad policy,” Dimmers said. “If McCollum had been willing to admit what was going on and send aid, none of that would have happened. It was simply bad distribution of resources, not a more fundamental problem.”

Theodosius stopped screwing his pitchfork in deeper and rested his arms on the handles. “Yes. Bad distribution of resources. Because the only place to get wheat from in any reasonable quantities had been Nine.” A few other Districts had had some small-scale wheat growing, but it barely ever left the borders of the District where it had been grown.

“There was plenty of non-wheat grain grown outside Nine, though,” Dimmers said, standing up. “The drought only affected part of the country. All McCollum had needed to do was distribute things better. Prices may have gone up in the Capitol and wheat bread may have become harder to find, but then they wouldn’t have had to take away even the seed grain to fulfill quotas-” Donna nervously looked at Theodosius at the mention of quotas, but then again, this had been before his time “-and shoot people on the spot for stealing a handful of stalks during the harvest.” There had been footage of such an execution in the film. An emaciated woman on her knees on the ground, the crack of gunfire, the thin figure collapsing in the dust.

“Still,” Donna said, “that would have been a short-term solution. What happened next time there was a natural disaster? What if it had affected something that _couldn’t_ have been compensated for at all?”

“Nothing life-essential had been in the purview of one District only!” Dimmers snapped.

Donna reared back, remembering the components crisis of the early Rebellion. “What about spare parts for complicated technology?” she said. “Once Three went that was it, we just had to hope equipment didn’t break. Do you know how long it took to get some sort of production going locally and in Two? It was too late by then.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, do you know how many meetings I sat through-”

“Then why go on about self-sustenance, if you know it’s just asking for disaster?” Donna cut him off. Dimmers gestured vaguely and sat back down, tearing out a blade of grass.

“That was during the Rebellion. That was different.”

“Well,” Theodosius said as he resumed loosening the soil, “maybe the tributary system had been flawed from the onset, then, if the Districts could rebel and not lose anything.”

“Not lose anything?” Dimmers asked. “What about medication?” Medicines, as well as weapons (including mutts) and ammunition had been the only things made in the Capitol for the Districts.

At that, Theodosius looked ready to explode. “They had no access to medications and medical technology in any case, for the most part! In the outer Districts, all of the medical professionals had been lucky to have taken a correspondence course!” Theodosius had often mentioned to Snow that it would be better for the workers to have a higher standard of living so they could be more productive, but since enough had been squeezed out of them as it was, nothing had ever happened. Only tiny Twelve, with its life expectancy of less than forty years, had never fulfilled quotas, but everyone at a certain level knew that Twelve only existed as a hostage. The little coal it had managed to mine had been a mere trickle compared to what other Districts generated.

“Yes, but that meant that it was a means of control-”

“What control?” Theodosius snapped. “It was just something that made them resent the Capitol even more. Please explain to me why it was necessary to allow Twelve to have a life expectancy of less than fifty percent of the Capitol’s! You didn’t need eyes to see there was something wrong there. They weren’t stupid.”

“Twelve was an exception. It was over ten times as small as the next-smallest District!”

“So that means it didn’t matter?”

Dimmers’ eyes, already wide as they were, nearly popped out of their sockets at that. He blinked several times. “Alright then, secret District supporter, believe what you want to believe,” he said with a tinge of sarcasm. Dimmers crumbled a clod of dirt in his hands, and Donna could see the soil stain his fingers and palms. “I see it’s pointless to argue with you two.” He got up and left, leaving the bucket behind.

“Why’s he leaving?” Theodosius asked desperately. Donna shrugged, she had no idea. Theodosius sat down, poking at the patch of ground where Dimmers had worked. Shoulders slumped, he tore a blade of grass from the ground and began to tear it into little pieces. Donna sat down next to him.

“He’s probably just stressed from coming here,” she tried to reassure Theodosius.

He shook his head. “I tried to help the Districts. I asked Snow to lower quotas, there’s nothing else I could have done!” Theodosius ran his hands through his hair. “I remember how they looked,” he added in a softer tone. “It was like for the Reapings, when the camera only focusing on the healthy kids. They didn’t let me see the lower-class people, the ones who were actually going hungry. But even then, I had a sense that there was something seriously wrong.”

Donna nodded. “The District workers on location never complained, but I also had that sense. There was just something off about everything.” She tore out a small weed and tossed it into the bucket.

“That was that,” Theodosius agreed. “They never complained. They always said that everything was good. Thing is, nobody in the Capitol complained, either, not the most desperate minimum-wage worker with five dependents and a leaky ceiling. I knew that. Why did I still let myself become deceived?” He ran his hands through his hair again, and his cap fell to the ground. Donna picked it up and gave it back to him.

“Some things just defy the rational mind,” Donna said. “People like us couldn’t believe that this was how things were done, so we chose not to.”

\-------------

In less than an hour, every single person in the Supermax knew about the argument down to the littlest details. Predictably, the result was that everyone else either became even more standoffish than usual, or tried to pick a fight. When lunch finally came around, Donna went back to her cell and shut the door, not wanting to talk to anyone. During the minute or so she had spent in the meal queue, Blatt had hissed accusations of hypocrisy under her breath. Donna didn’t have the energy to deal with that. She pulled the door shut, letting it lock automatically behind her.

Sitting at her rickety table, she ate mechanically. Vegetable stew with small pieces of meat. A piece of loaf bread. Apples that had been dried, and then re-soaked in boiling water. Instead of tea, today they had water that slightly tasted like apple juice, in which presumably the slices had been soaked. It was cold, but the new taste was nice after years of plain water and weak tea. She recorded this new development on her piece of paper. Several hundred servings of tea, an approximately equal amount of times that tap water had been the only thing to drink, and now one - of stewed fruit juice.

The stewed fruit only managed to improve her mood for a few seconds. It felt like something was suffocating her mind, not as bad as when she had fallen into a deep depression several weeks after arrest, but definitely similar. Half-heartedly, she forced herself to pick up the tiny bits left over on the tray. Donna pushed it aside and tried to lay her head on the table. It didn’t fit. She placed the tray on her cot and positioned her elbow so it didn’t hit her stack of books. 

A part of her didn’t care about anything. Another part, though, was still capable of being anxious. Had she ruined everything? Was Dimmers going to hate her forever now? All she had wanted was to have more people to talk to, and now, even less people wanted to talk to her than before. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the anxiety slithering through her insides. What if nobody wanted to talk to her? What if she was left all alone?

The door opened. Donna didn’t get up.

“Female Nine, are you going to work today or not?”

Despite feeling utterly exhausted, Donna leapt to her feet, picking up her tray.

“And take your cap off when talking to a guard! Honestly, Female Nine, the new arrivals are behaving better than you!”

Donna doffed her cap with one hand, balancing the empty tray with the other. She walked out as fast as possible, seeking out Theodosius. During their afternoon walk, none of the new arrivals walked up to them to say hello.


	19. Many Issues

Dem had written in a clandestine letter than the children had loved the story (and her father had been delighted that she actually remembered it), so Donna decided to try to send one through the official mail. She had racked her brain, and finally remembered one. It was so much easier to write at the table, instead of on her cot. 

_Once upon a time, a country was at war with itself. Many perished in the fighting or were killed by bombs. Eventually, though, peace was achieved, though the people still hated each other and many wanted to keep fighting. The solution was simple. The country would be divided in two by a great wall. If a city or town or village stood in the way, the inhabitants would have to move elsewhere._

_There was a problem, though. The capital city was likewise in the way of the wall, and both countries refused to yield it. Eventually, the wall was built right through it, dividing the city in two and leaving the people torn apart from each other, separated by a complex of walls and barbed wire and mines._

_None could cross the wall, but they did nevertheless. All over the country, people decided that they didn’t like their new country, and managed to sneak through gaps in the defenses, especially in poorly patrolled rural regions where the wall was often just a non-electrified fence. But even in the great capital city, where escape often seemed impossible, people still managed to find ways. Indeed, most of the escapes were where the defenses were strongest._

_That greatly upset the governments. Having their own citizens run away from them made them look weak, and when one feels weak, one tries to show strength. Soon, missiles were pointed at cities again, just waiting for the command to launch, and people went to bed at night not knowing if they would wake up in the morning._

_The wall, however, was not impenetrable thanks to just its impressive defenses. The people who guarded the wall were all highly skilled and very professional. Soldiers and police from both sides of the country marched back and forth, looking for weak spots. When the patrols walked past each other, they saluted, and that salute was the only formal recognition the countries gave each other. When a wanted criminal escaped to the other side, the police would be allowed across the wall to help with the search, and that was the only cooperation the countries had._

_The guards and police told their superiors about the guards and police of the other country. They were told to remain strictly professional. To not give the slightest offense, but also to not give as much as a friendly smile. And yet, they managed to become close sometimes. They were told they were enemies and ordered to cooperate as allies, after all, and it is only natural that some would heed the former instruction, and some - the latter._

_All the two nations shared was patrols and the occasional investigation. This camaraderie did not last beyond the fence that marked the beginning of the boundary. But did it nevertheless have an effect? It is not known. It is only known that when the people rose up and demanded the conflict come to an end, none of the soldiers or police fired a shot at the people who had come to tear down the wall._

_And after all, even if only a handful of people ever worked with someone from the other side, that was not nothing. If a hundred people found a friend, that meant everything to them. If a hundred people from each side worked together, no matter how strained the world around them, that meant everything to everyone._

Try as she might, Donna wasn’t sure why her father had told her that story. She had been thinking about the bedtime stories her father had told her when she was little, and noticed that all of them had some sort of moral or message that could have been interpreted as being hostile to the state. She had never realized before just how much he had disliked the regime. 

His stories praised democracy, or lamented the sad fate of a people broken apart and isolated, or emphasized the importance of equity. This message of this one, however, eluded her. The reference to a civil war was probably meant to be a stand-in for the First Rebellion, but the way that the divided country wasn’t presented with a clear right or wrong side made that very unlikely.

The wall could also be representing the divisions between the Districts, but in the story, it was something mutually decided or at least agreed on, and it was more of a separation of equals than an enforced inequality. The ending was the only part that made sense, as it most likely was her father’s dream of a unified Panem explained in a fairytale-esque way.

What was it even supposed to represent? Was this perhaps not meant to be political at all, just a more traditional fairytale with elements taken from recent history? But all of her father’s non-political stories had been obviously non-political. This one was different. Donna’s mind seized on the discrepancy, and refused to let go. She moved to her cot and contemplated the question, paper and pen in hand.

There was nothing in any of her books about literal walls, though if it was a reference to something pre-Cataclysm, it was possible that she had simply not read about it yet. She’d need to get some books on the decades that had preceded the Cataclysm. But what if the wall wasn’t actually based off something real? It could have been a metaphor. But a metaphor of what? Division? That much was obvious. Division of what? A nation? That much was also obvious. But after what? She couldn’t think of any conflicts that had ended with the construction of a wall, although that did seem like a very easy solution to decide on. Those were all post-Cataclysm wars, though, which still left the option that this was a heavily edited description of either something no records remained of, or something she had simply not found out about yet. 

Records of events before the Cataclysm had once been confined to the State Library, and permission to look at them had been impossible to get for most people. Now, however, not only would they be opened up, but there were also foreign sources. Donna had read philosophy from that time, but never history (or what would have been current events at the time). Maybe she should ask for a history text and look for something that could have been the basis of her father’s story. Hopefully, the references to modern technology indicated the time frame, and had not been added to the story to have it make more sense to little Donna and Alex. There were many more records for the last century or so before the Cataclysm than for all the previous time periods put together, that much she knew.

Now that she had a plan, Donna felt much better despite still not knowing the answer. She hid her paper and went to sleep.

\-----------------

As Donna cleaned her cell, she wondered what her children would think of the story. Apparently, even the older children had appreciated the last one, though she had no idea what form that appreciation had taken. Hopefully, they would like this one as well. She finished wiping everything down, and began to sweep. There wasn’t much dirt today, as it had been dry yesterday, but she had still managed to track in some. 

Cleaning was an endless process. No matter how carefully she went over every single nook and cranny, the dirt would be back the next day. No matter how careful she was not to track in dirt, it still managed to get into her cell. She checked the soles of her shoes. They were clean. Donna sighed and continued sweeping, making a small neat pile at the entrance to her cell. Dirt was almost invisible when it was all spread out, but when she swept it into a pile, it became clear as anything.

Donna swept it into the corridor, adding it to a larger pile. Since she wasn’t the one cleaning the corridor today, she went back to her cell and checked the corners, seeing if there was a speck of dust she had missed. There was none, of course, but it gave her an excuse to move. She could hear several prisoners chatting quietly in the corridor, but couldn’t make out the words. One of the guards must have been nearby, then, though trying to not be overheard was impossible. The space was simply too small.

The warden from Thirteen walked in, waving Donna’s letter. Donna turned around, doffing her cap with one hand and clutching the broom in another. “Female Nine!” the warden practically shouted, tossing it on the table. She turned around and slammed the door shut. What would everyone think? “You were warned that secret messages are prohibited.”

For a second, Donna felt dizzy, until she saw that the warden wasn’t holding one of her illicit notes. “What secret messages?” Donna asked, channeling terror and anxiety into shock and incredulity. This was the official letter she was holding! What was this even supposed to mean?

The warden softened slightly. “I must say that I agree with the message you send,” she said, “but you may not discuss current events in letters.”

This was making less and less sense. Donna was calmer now, but still outraged. “But the letter’s just a silly story for my children, as well as the same content as always!”

“A story,” the warden agreed, “but with a hidden message.” She became stern again. “You were warned. Don’t mention certain topics. Don’t try to trick us. You are banned from writing and receiving letters for six months.”

The words pulled the air out of her lungs.

“What? But why - receiving? You can’t just do that!” Donna pleaded.

“Because the administration said so.”

The sheer hypocrisy of that statement shocked Donna’s brain into partially working. Before she could control herself, she snapped, “Are you insane?”

“If you do not calm down, it will be replaced with a week in total solitary!” Donna immediately calmed down outwardly, though she still seethed inside. She stared at the floor, trying to look contrite. The door slammed shut and Donna dropped to her cot, snatching the paper from her table and tossing the broom onto the floor. What had the censors found in the letter that was forbidden? There was nothing as far as Donna could see. Just some day-to-day observations, as well as the fairy tale she had written down from memory. Donna went through the letter carefully, looking for anything that could be interpreted as a secret code.

Nothing. The story was just an inane little story about the importance of cooperation and not letting biases get in the way of work relationships. Perhaps a bit on the nose, with the situation between the Districts being the way it was, but Donna didn’t see how it could be interpreted as an allegory or anything of that sort. Frustrated, Donna tossed the letter back onto the table. She’d send it through one of the sympathetic guards, and say that she had torn it up and flushed it when the warden came around to check how much paper she had. Donna added a few extra lines, explaining the situation. 

Six months with no letters? It wasn’t fair. All because the censors though there was a secret message in the letter. Donna kicked herself mentally. She shouldn’t have tried to send the story by official mail. But how could she have known? There was nothing wrong with her letter, after all. She finished wiping down all the surfaces quickly. When they were let out, she practically stormed over to Theodosius, eager to have someone to commiserate with.

“They banned me from letters for six months!” she fumed, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Mornings always felt chilly, no matter how hot it would get later in the day. Unlike in the city, where the buildings heated up during the day and then released the heat at night, here it got cold. “I don’t even know why! The warden just turned up and claimed I was mentioning forbidden topics.”

“What made them think that?” Theodosius asked, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“That’s the thing!” Donna said, throwing up her hands. “I have no idea! It was all the same as always, plus a little story for my children.”

“They thought a children’s story contained forbidden information?” Theodosius sounded irritated. “But...why? What was even in that story?” Donna quickly retold the main points. 

“I can kind of see where they got the idea,” she admitted, “but I just don’t see why the censors would feel threatened enough to ban me from _receiving_ letters.” That part made no sense at all. “Do they think I have some sort of illicit communication going with my family?” asked Donna, who was doing precisely that.

Theodosius ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe they’re being overcautious. Maybe something happened.”

“Wouldn’t someone have told us if something extraordinary happened?” The more potentially damaging a piece of news or a fresh revelation, the faster the dwellers of the Supermax found out about it.

“I don’t know,” Theodosius snapped. “None of this makes any sense. Why don’t they explain themselves?” For a second, the sentries in the closest tower appeared to have their machine gun pointed straight at them, and then the illusion passed. “Fucking hypocrites,” he added in a quieter tone.

“Says you?” Blatt asked from behind them.

Donna whirled around, nearly poking the other woman with an outstretched finger. “I didn’t ask you for commentary.” 

“You said it in earshot of others. That implies you are willing to let others hear.” Blatt’s calmness was driving Donna to the boiling point.

“It’s impossible to be out of earshot in here!” Theodosius sputtered.

With icy calmness, Blatt hammered the point home. “Then maybe you shouldn’t open your mouths at all.”

“How about _you_ shut up,” Donna hissed. “My life would be much easier without your endless criticism.”

Blatt leaned forward slightly, baring her teeth. “Maybe you should act in a manner that does not invite criticism so easily, then,” she said.

“Or maybe you take offense where there is none,” Theodosius argued.

“Or maybe you two need to take a good look in the mirror.”

“What?” Donna said. “There are no mirrors here.”

“And whose fault is it that you’re here in the first place?” They were almost face-to-face now, Theodosius hunching over to meet Blatt’s eye.

“Unlike you-” Theodosius began, but was cut off.

“Spare me that nonsense,” Blatt said. “You know full well that nothing you do will please our new rulers. That’s why you are so upset, isn’t it? The goalposts were moved, and now you don’t know how to regain favour.” Her tone would have been soothing had her words not been so infuriating. Did she think up of those remarks at night? Donna did not recall Blatt ever being so good with words before.

“I am upset because I lost the ability to write to my family for half a year. _Mrs._ Blatt,” Donna said, emphasizing her title. “I’m sure you would be just as upset if you were cut off from your family like that.”

Blatt shrugged dismissively. “Of course I would be. But unlike you, I know to expect the worst from the administration.”

“Why are you three standing in the middle of the path?” shouted a guard. Donna and Thedosius resumed walking, but Blatt stuck close to them.

“You see,” she continued, “they’re here to look good to their respective governments.”

“Why the plural?” Theodosius asked. “Last I checked, we were still one nation,” he added with a tinge of sarcasm. “The Districts are scattering, but they haven’t scattered yet.”

Blatt looked at them like they were stupid. “You must not have checked very well,” she said.

As if Blatt had access to any more news than they did. “Look, could you please stop antagonizing us?” Donna said. “If you’re so convinced you’re right, why do you talk about it so much?” Blatt shot them a final disdainful look before marching off at a speed not too far from Li’s, who was running back and forth on the other side of the yard.

“What makes her think she can just attack people like that?” complained Theodosius. He was looking even more upset now, staring at the ground blankly. “I hate this,” he said with a sudden fury. “I hate having to see them every single day. I hate being here.”

“But you’re not here,” Donna said. “You’re on the outskirts of Two, aren’t you?” She asked him for updates on his cross-country trek from time to time.

Theodosius shrugged. “I can’t go in, though,” he said glumly. “They’ll just arrest me and hand me over to Thirteen.” Two often tried to press for lighter punishments for the former Peacekeepers, but when push came to shove, they had zero desire to antagonize Thirteen and the rest of them.

“You can just walk around it, I suppose.”

“What, make a loop?” He brightened up slightly as he considered her words. “I could do that. Go around each District, and then keep on going. And if it borders the ocean, I can just walk back the way I came, I suppose.” His face fell abruptly. “But that’s just for an hour or two each day, though. I’m stuck here the rest of the time.”

“Yeah,” Donna said. The walls seemed to be constricting her. It was such a tiny space that they were in! “I wish I was at home.” 

“I just want to be out of here.”

The sheer pressure of remembering just when they would be out of there made Donna want to throw up and cry at the same time. “Just gotta get through the day and survive the night,” she muttered in a thick voice. 

“That’s a lot of days and nights,” said Theodosius. He must have also been thinking along the same lines.

“And now I can’t even talk to them!” That was not true, but Donna needed something to blame her mood on. She didn’t want to be depressed for no reason, as that would mean that there was no easy way of dealing with it. If only she could pretend everything was going to pieces because of the ban on letters, then maybe it would go away as soon as it was lifted.

“You know,” Theodosius said contemplatively, “I can just ask Cynthia to mention your family more often.”

Donna shook her head. “That’s probably also banned.”

“I’ll ask her to refer to the children in general without naming names.” Donna was about to give her assent before she realized that there was something wrong with his statement.

“...and how will you communicate that to them?” she asked, as if she wasn’t fully aware of his clandestine messages. Come to think of it, he was probably also aware of hers, and was only going along with the conversation because that’s what the administration expected. 

Theodosius sagged. “Never mind, then. It’s only six months, after all. You’ll miss their birthdays, though, right?”

“Yes,” Donna said glumly - and sincerely. Her mood was real, just not the words she was using to explain it. “They’re all in June.”

At that, Theodosius gave her an odd look. “What’s so special about...November, is it?”

It took Donna a while to understand what he was getting at. “The first time it just happened that way. Then, I kept on being assigned to work in the office around that point. It was convenient, I’d be able to work on that year’s Arena on location until the construction proper was done, go on maternity leave, work from home for a while, and then switch to another location.”

“That’s smart,” Theodosius said. “Must have been difficult when you got promoted, though.”

Donna shrugged, not having enough energy to talk. It _had_ been hard sometimes, but not that bad. The most physical exertion she had ever had to do had been walking for an hour or so, after all. It was mostly just the strain of having to manage and balance everything.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

“You don’t look too good, either.”

“I don’t know,” Theodosius said. “I guess Blatt just ruined my mood.” He dug his hands deeper into his pockets even though it was starting to warm up now. They walked past trees that had only recently begun to show signs of life. Donna paused to run her fingers over the leaves. They were so soft. “And why are _you_ so down?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” They walked in silence for a while. Li sprinted by, followed by several other former Peacekeepers who were going at a slightly less insane pace. “Maybe I’ll ask the psychologist.”

Theodosius took his hands out of his pockets and raised them towards the soft breeze. “Didn’t you last see her only a few days ago?”

That wasn’t a very encouraging thought. “Well, when I do see her, I’ll ask.” Unfortunately, Dr. Chu wouldn’t be able to help her, as Donna wasn’t about to reveal her secret communications. It was possible the psychologist’s advice would be helpful nonetheless, but Donna was struggling to believe it. She couldn’t even tell Dr. Chu what was going on! There was nobody she could tell! She couldn’t tell Theodosius because someone would overhear, she couldn’t tell Dr. Chu because she’d tell the administration and the consequences would be dire, and she couldn’t tell Dem because then he’d worry. It was beginning to look like she would be stuck telling everyone the same lie. Maybe if she convinced herself that it was the truth, things would get easier.

Why was she so upset? It couldn’t be the ban on letters, as she still had her real communication channel. Or maybe it was the ban, but indirectly? Maybe Blatt had been partially right when she mentioned goalposts being moved. Maybe it was because something that made no sense happened, and she was unable to understand it. She could definitely tell this to Dr. Chu if she spun it right, Donna realized. Say that it was less the ban and more - the inconsistency of the rules that had upset her. 

The realization didn’t make her feel any better.

\-----------------

Donna sat on her cot with an open book in her lap, but she wasn’t reading. She couldn’t focus on the words, her mind felt like it was being suffocated in fog. The diary entry for today was two half-hearted sentences. _17/04/78 Banned from sending and receiving letters for half a year. I can’t do this anymore._

She lay down facefirst, hiding her face from the lightbulb. “Can you please go away for just five minutes?” she grumbled. The lightbulb, being incapable of independent thought, could not disobey superior orders and do what she asked. It kept glowing.

This was too much. Everything was too much. _Everyone_ was too much. Sitting in her cell she felt terribly alone, but outside of it, all she wanted was solitude. Donna considered asking for the psychologist, but she was probably busy right now, anyway. She stared at the page, absorbing nothing.

She was having a depressive episode, that much was obvious. Knowing that she had a problem didn’t help her solve it, though. It just added another problem on top of everything else. The bright light was irritating her almost to tears. Donna took one blanket and put it over her head. Now it was too stuffy and hot. With a sigh, she pulled it back down.

“You’re still nicer than Best and Verdant and the rest of them,” she said. “At least you can’t think independently. They can. They just only do it when it suits them.”

The lightbulb glared, as if trying to disprove her point. It was like when she accidentally gave a backhanded compliment to one of her children, and they didn’t know how to react.

“Don’t glare at me like that,” Donna said sadly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Now, the lightbulb’s glow looked more sad than anything. Donna felt tears pricking at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at her face. “I really should appreciate my ability to think more, shouldn’t I?” She sniffled. “I was wrong. You’re not like us. You’re like one of the workers who had no choice. You have to glow, and if you stop glowing, you’re thrown out with the trash.”

Saying that out loud broke through something. “I know, I know,” Donna sobbed. “You have to do this or else it’s the end of you. Nobody asked you if this is what you wanted to do. Nobody asked you if maybe you want to go on a break from time to time instead of working around the clock. You must be so tired!” She wiped at her face with the blanket. 

“Don’t worry, little lightbulb,” Donna whispered. “They don’t want to hurt you. You could just ask. But do you even have a tongue to speak with, or was it also stolen long ago? Are you like the Avox women in the IGR, glad to have such a nice job when the alternatives are so much worse? Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, then. Poor little lightbulb. Hopefully they let you rest from time to time soon. I must say, you’re doing a really good job so far. Not a flicker from you, just a nice, even glow.”

Was it her imagination or was the lightbulb glowing brighter? _I’m a lightbulb_ , she imagined it saying. _I’m not like a human. I won’t break so easily, but if you break me, I won’t be able to keep working._

“I didn’t mean to hurt them!” Donna snapped. “I had no idea.”

_You sensed something was wrong. To sense is to know subconsciously. You can’t sense in a vacuum._

“Good thing you weren’t up there instead of Irons,” Donna grumbled. If the prosecutor from Thirteen had thought along those lines, nobody would have believed Donna’s words.

Still, the lightbulb’s words stuck in Donna’s mind. You can’t sense in a vacuum. That made sense. But what had she done, then, if not sense? It wasn’t knowing, not by any meaning of the word. A vague awareness of things not being the way she thought they were. A rumour of a whisper. 

Feeling mentally drained, Donna lay down and closed her eyes, still thinking. Not awareness, no, but not quite lack of awareness. “Sorry, lightbulb,” she said. “I think you’re wrong here. I wasn’t sensing in a vacuum, after all. There were rumours going around, from the obviously true to the obviously false. In such an atmosphere, it was easy to not know what you didn’t want to know.” Feeling slightly calmed by that decision, her mind drifted to ways to get back at Blatt. Soon, she fell asleep.

The next morning, Donna woke up early, feeling a little bit better. She had enough energy to write down yesterday’s conversations in detail, at least. It was a bit unpleasant to record how Blatt had beaten her in an argument, but any attempts to make herself look better would be discovered in the long run. Hiding the paper, she picked up a book and read it in the light of the bulb as she waited for the guards to come around and unlock the doors.


	20. Easier

The door opened, and Donna was motioned to step into the door frame. Clutching her cap, she looked around, wondering what was going on. She craned her neck to see what was happening at the end of the corridor, and was shocked to see one of the directors. They often prowled around the yard, but seldom entered the corridors, despite the fact that any director could enter both wings. The male directors were the only men allowed to enter the female wing (except medical staff), and vice versa. Donna was fairly sure that the director currently studying a piece of paper with an irritated expression was from Thirteen. 

Every week, the directors took turns chairing their meetings, although since all of them had veto rights that just meant that they were the one responsible for catering. The more controversial a District’s recent decision or announcement, the better the food served at the behest of that District’s representative. The chair was also responsible for announcing changes to prison rules, but that had never happened before. Was it happening now? Donna locked eyes with her neighbours, trying to communicate with facial expressions alone. Her hands itched to form signs, but no talking meant no talking.

The director stopped staring at the paper and raised his eyes. “A rule change will be implemented starting this evening,” he said in a clear and emotionless voice. “Light bulbs will be turned off from 2200 to 600.”

It was silent in the corridor, but Donna could hear everyone cheering internally. The director turned around and left.

“And...how do we interpret this?” whispered Grass to Donna. “There’s no way they’re doing this out of the goodness of their hearts.” Donna shrugged. She wasn’t going to search for dark motives when something went well for once. “No, seriously,” Grass insisted, slightly louder. “Why do this? Why now?”

They headed down the corridor, towards outside. Donna wanted to talk to Theodosius, she didn’t want to interact with Grass and Blatt, but she had no choice. Blatt was already coming in on Donna’s right, wedging her between the two women. “Maybe our complaints finally got through,” she said. “They can’t ignore public opinion. Not if they want to remain in power.” Given that they were still alive _despite_ public opinion, Donna wasn’t inclined to worry about what the average person thought. 

“I doubt the people out there care about what goes on in here,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Grass said. “At the very least, we’re a curiosity. We’re the only ones of our kind in the world, and now that the IDC is dissolved, that draws international eyes even more. Every little thing may end up a point of contention on the international stage,” she explained. “Paylor needs to show toughness, but she can’t let it look like the new government’s going around getting bloody revenge.” Grass had been minister of justice for twenty years, and she understood very well how people interacted at the highest levels. 

Blatt scratched her head. “So you’re saying that this is a bargain of sorts? There’s still the question of why specifically now. We’ve been living with the lights for years, all of us. Why go so far as to change the rules? And how were the directors persuaded to agree to it?”

Now that was a question the answer to which would explain everything. “I assume they were in agreement beforehand,” Donna said. “There’s no way one of them would have tried to bring it up if they weren’t certain they’d get overwhelming support.”

“That is certain,” Grass said, “but why now? Why not a month ago? Or a month later? Was this something that was going to happen eventually, or did it only happen because of a lucky coincidence? Oh, how I wish we got news. Maybe then it would make more sense.”

“What sense?” Blatt asked. “Do you see any sense in anything that goes on in here? They throw things together at the last minute and then act like it’s part of a carefully made plan. Under no circumstances will they let us know what’s going on outside, because then, we’ll find out that the Supermax is being held together with duct tape and a stubborn refusal to be the first to yield. They don’t want us to know just how badly they’re getting along.”

Donna shook her head. “The administration is pretty much the only inter-District organization that’s actually getting along, more or less. Teeth-clenched cooperation is still cooperation, at least for us.” It took them an eternity to agree on anything, but when push came to shove, they stood firm as rocks.

“You don’t see!” Blatt exclaimed quietly. “They still haven’t come up with the protocol for what to do when we die. Even though Townsend is on his deathbed. All they can agree on is that under no circumstances is he to be released. At this rate, they’ll just bury him in the yard under the cucumbers.” Donna chuckled slightly at the image, even though there was nothing funny there.

Grass disagreed. “I don’t see how they’re any worse than any other committee. As soon as Townsend breathes his last, they’ll stay up all night, produce a set of procedures to the press the next morning, and then act as if that was always the intended plan..”

“I doubt that,” Blatt said. “There’s just too much ideological animosity.”

“Ideological animosity counts for nothing when there’s a deadline,” Donna butted in. “They don’t want to look incompetent more than they dislike each other.” Grass nodded. Blatt shrugged. They stepped outside. It was heavily overcast, but rain seemed unlikely.

* * *

“I just realized,” Theodosius said as he stared at the small potato plants poking out of the ground. “Townsend isn’t going to get to enjoy the lightbulbs being turned off.”

Donna pulled out a few weeds, careful to not disturb the plants. Why did weeds grow so much better than everything else? It wasn’t fair. The less useful a plant was, the better it grew. And administration refused to let them use pesticides. Donna supposed they were lucky enough to get fertilizer. The two of them had fertilized onions with ash a while back, as that was supposed to make them grow bigger. “There’s a lot of things Townsend isn’t going to get to enjoy,” she said, “but that’s not one of them. There’s no way the infirmary lights aren’t turned off at night.” 

The man had been dying for months, but was still hanging on. The prisoners asked about his health several times a day, and got the same reply. “Stable.” Stable in the bad way, that was obvious, but how hard would it have been to give just a few more details?

Theodosius sat back, smiling sadly. “At least we’ll be able to sleep properly now.” He was saying that for the third time today, and sounded just as awed as the first time.

“I wonder if we’ll need to readjust,” Donna said, “or if we’ll be sleeping better starting tonight.”

“We’ll see,” Theodosius answered. He stared up at the sky, arms draped over his knees. Donna sat down and looked up as well, wondering what it was that he saw there. At first glance, the sky was a light-grey sheet, but if she looked closely enough, she could see separate clouds and different shades. The clouds were actually quite bright. They were pale grey, not like the leaden-grey rain clouds that ruined everyone’s mood, and a lot of the sun’s light shone through them.

It was a nice brightness. Clear and clean, but with none of the sun’s burning glare. All the light, but none of the merciless burning you couldn’t hide from. Donna stared at the clouds, noticing an outline here, a lighter or darker patch here. “Don’t turn around,” Theodosius whispered.

“Why?” she whispered back, continuing to study the clouds. Out of the corner of her eye, Donna could see Theodosius, also staring upwards.

“I think one of the guards took a photo of us,” he said. “I don’t want to draw attention.”

Donna shrugged. “I doubt they’re the first,” she said. “If this is anything at all like jail, I bet we just haven’t been able to catch any of them at it yet.” The horizon seemed darker than the clouds right above them. Maybe it would rain soon.

“True. I wonder how many times we’ve been in newspapers since arriving here?” While the guards were willing to dole out news with breakfast, Donna hadn’t held a newspaper since arriving to the Supermax. In jail, the guards had been much less disciplined when it came to things like this.

“You know,” Theodosius said, turning to face her, “I think people don’t care about as much as they used to. New developments don’t concern us, after all. Nobody currently being tried is going to end up here. We’ve probably been consigned to old news.” He sighed sadly.

“What’s so bad about that?” Donna asked incredulously. “I, for one, would much rather not occupy the front page together with restitution debates and news from the fields. I shudder to think what my kids picked up from there.”

Theodosius lazily pulled at a small weed. “Still, at least it’s something about us getting out to them.” He looked up, suddenly alert. “ _Have_ you heard anything about how planting’s going?”

“No,” Donna said. “Nothing that you don’t.” Apparently, not only was this year’s harvest supposed to be eighty percent of the pre-Rebellion average (up from how much during the previous two years was the question), but some other countries had promised to increase aid shipments if necessary. Donna had no idea which countries these were, how big the shipments were, and when they had started in the first place.

“Hey!” Stein called out to them from behind. Donna and Theodosius turned around. “What are you two doing right now?”

“Looking at the clouds,” Theodosius answered.

Stein glanced up. “Doesn’t look like rain to me,” he said. “Could you please mix some liquid fertilizer for me? I’ve been having back pain the past few days, so I don’t want to move the heavy bag.” He rubbed at his lower back self-consciously. The former Peacekeepers hated admitting weakness.

“Of course,” Donna said, standing up and shaking the dirt from herself. Theodosius echoed her as he also clambered to his feet. They moved in the direction of the shed, glad for the excuse to walk around some more. If they spent too much time walking, they would be called out for not working. It wasn’t fair, as some others spent nearly the entire day making loop after loop of the yard, and nobody made fun of them for that.

As they headed in the direction of the shed, Theodosius kept on staring at the sky. “The light is beautiful,” he said. “But I can’t wait to see darkness. Do you think we’ll be able to see the stars better if it’s dark in our cells?”

Donna had no idea. “Well, it certainly won’t make it harder,” she said. “You know what I’m worried about? Being cut off mid-page. It’ll take weeks before our sense of time starts telling us it’s almost lights-out.”

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair, keeping his cap in place with the other. “Well, they’ll probably go around collecting glasses and handing out meds shortly before,” he pointed out. 

“That’s smart,” Donna said. “When they start going around, that means time to get ready for bed.” She paused as another realization hit her. “So if someone needs very little sleep, they’ll be stuck in the dark with just their thoughts for hours.”

“It’ll be easier to fall asleep, though,” Theodosius said. They came up to the shed, nodding a greeting to Aslanov, who was squatting by the open door and trying to fix a bent spade with a hammer. A metre or so away was a bucket with a lid on it, and Donna pointed it out. Could that be fertilizer?

“That would make life easier,” Theodosius muttered as he picked up the lid. He immediately dropped it on the ground, swearing. Donna stepped forward to see what was wrong, and grimaced at the sight of maggots floating in liquid fertilizer. They formed a layer on top of the fertilizer, wriggling around. Aslanov looked over at the noise, and shrugged.

“I don’t think that ruins the fertilizer,” he said.

“I don’t think putting maggots under our tomato plants is a good idea,” Donna pointed out.

“Then take out the maggots!” Aslanov said, spreading his hands and shrugging. He looked at them closely. “Huh. I didn’t realize it was possible to be paler than you,” he said to Theodosius with a smirk. The elderly former Peacekeeper was naturally about as pale as Theodosius, but he also didn’t bother with sunscreen (citing not caring if he died in five years or fifteen or tomorrow) and was thus much more deeply tanned.

Theodosius rolled his eyes. “I don’t think my wife would appreciate it if I got skin cancer. Bad for the appearance, you know.”

Aslanov chuckled. “So it is. How are you going to remove the maggots?” he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

“No idea,” Donna said with a sigh. “I don’t even want to look at the bucket.”

“Maybe we could poison the maggots and then dump the bucket onto the compost heap?” Theodosius asked a nearby tree. 

“But Stein needs us to make fertilizer,” Donna said. “Let’s do that first.”

Giving the spade a final tap of the hammer, Aslanov stood up. “You two make the fertilizer,” he said, handing the spade to Donna. “I’ll deal with the maggoty bucket.” 

“Thank you,” they answered and went inside the shed. Trying to haul out the open sack from where it was hidden behind stakes and boards was an ordeal, and Donna had to pause and stretch her back midway through the process. They shoveled a few spadefuls of fertilizer into the bucket and put the sack back, struggling against the weight. How hard would it have been to get smaller sacks? Finally, it was back in place, and they went outside to fill the bucket with water. Aslanov was walking down the path, holding the bucket. Donna set hers down as Theodosius picked up a hose and used it to fill the bucket. She stirred it with her spade.

“Now, we just have to make sure we don’t forget about this one as well,” she quipped.

Theodosius turned off the tap and tossed the hose on the ground. “How did we even miss it for so long?” he wondered. “It must have been standing out here for days.” Donna shrugged and picked up the bucket with both hands. The smell was horrible. “I’ll help you,” Theodosius said, grabbing the handle with his right hand. 

The height difference made it awkward, but still easier than trying to haul it on her own. Donna tried to match their steps. One-two, one-two. The handle was painfully digging into her hand. No choice, though. Need to keep going. Walk, walk, walk. “This is so heavy,” she said as a distraction.

“Yeah,” panted Theodosius. “You need a break?”

“No.”

Slowly, they reached Stein, who was doing stretches. “Here’s the fertilizer,” they said.

“Thank you so much,” the former Peacekeeper said warmly. “I’m sorry for intruding on your time, but - well.” He rubbed at his back irritably.

Theodosius shrugged. “It’s no problem.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Donna added.

Stein took out an empty coffee tin from his pocket and used it to scoop up the liquid and pour it on the tomatoes. He was standing on his knees to reach the roots. “That we do,” he said in an emotionless tone. “That we do.” Stein only had eleven years left. “Well, thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome,” they answered, and walked back to their patch.

Most of the gravel was since long gone from the path. It was now mostly a dusty dirt track, fine particles settling on Donna’s shoes as she walked. Better than the mud that it turned to when it rained, of course, but still not very enjoyable. The bare earth was webbed with cracks, but there was grass growing just centimetres away from it. Any growth on the path itself was immediately crushed by feet, of course. 

There was suddenly the sound of a lawnmower. Donna had completely forgotten that she and Theodosius had promised to help mow the grass. They turned around and quickly walked back in the direction they had come from, and kept walking. Off to the side of the yard was a small patch of wild grasses, maybe six by five metres and fenced off on three sides by rows of saplings. In a few decades, it would be possible to hide from prying eyes there, but for now, Trotman and the handheld mower she was holding towered over the little trees. She noticed them coming, and nodded slightly as she continued mowing.

The mower was a clunky and heavy piece of equipment. It had to be slung over the back and held, and the user needed to wear face protection and boots to use it. Why the administration couldn’t get a pushcart-style mower like the one Donna had used at home was beyond anyone’s understanding, but it probably came down to what was cheaper. At least they hadn’t forced them to use scythes.

Trotman finished mowing half of the little field and handed over the mower to Donna. She rested the end against the ground as Theodosius put on the protective equipment. What they really needed was hearing protection, as the sound was painful, but several minutes of the horrific noise were deemed to not be enough to cause damage. Donna stood by a sapling and watched Theodosius finish off the rest of the field, much to her surprise. Slightly upset at the change in plans, she picked up a rake and began to gather up the grass. If the other two did all the mowing, it would be reasonable to expect her to do the raking.

As she gathered the shorn grass into several small piles, Theodosius walked beside her. Trotman had left and was now standing with several other former Peacekeepers next to a cabbage patch, so Donna felt much more comfortable talking. “You could have let me do a quarter of the field,” she said. 

“It’s alright,” he answered. “I honestly didn’t expect it myself. I didn’t feel as tired as before, so I kept on going, and kept on going, and then the field ended.” He shrugged. Donna walked to a different corner and began to make another pile. 

“Maybe you’re getting in shape,” she said lightly. “By the time we’re out of here, you’ll be slinging sacks of fertilizer just like Li.” 

Theodosius chuckled. “Nobody can do anything just like Li. He’s in a category of his own.”

“Even his excuses are in a category of their own,” Donna added in a whisper. “I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of the Death Squad being honourable professionals hunting down criminals.” Theodosius nodded, eyeing Li, who was hoeing a vegetable patch on the other side of the yard. “Also, could you please get buckets? I don’t want to carry all this in my hands and drop half of it before I get to the compost pile.”

“Alright,” said Theodosius and walked off quickly towards the shed. By the time he got back, Donna managed to finish raking. Four neat piles rested about a metre away diagonally from each corner. 

Taking a bucket from Theodosius, she asked, “Who did you talk to?”

“Ledge started talking about his family,” he explained. “His eldest daughter gave birth last week, it turns out.” Donna wondered how old the child would be when Ledge died in here.

Such thoughts, however, were not the sort of things one could say out loud. “Good for him,” she said instead. “And his daughter, of course.”

“I wonder if we’ll become grandparents while in here,” Theodosius wondered.

“Of course we will. Our youngest will be in their mid-twenties when we get out of here.” Donna finished stuffing her bucket with as much grass as would fit, and waited for Theodosius to do likewise.

“True,” Theodosius said, and fell silent as he shoved handfuls of still-soft grass into his bucket. Donna could guess at what he was thinking about. It seemed crazy that their children would ever be willing to have children, children who would end up stuck with their grandparent’s legacy. But on the other hand, their children didn’t deserve to be deprived of the joys of parenthood just because of what sort of label the family name was. Donna resolved to say just that to Theodosius if he ever voiced such doubts. Now, though, he said nothing, merely standing up and carrying his bucket to the compost pile.

* * *

That afternoon, the water in the showers was freezing. “Sorry,” apologized the guard, a stocky young woman from Seven. “Repairs are being done to the heater.”

“Seriously?” hissed Kim to Donna as she held her hand under the stream of icy-cold water. “I’d have thought that with the lightbulbs turned off at night, they’d have _more_ electricity for water heating, not less.”

“Maybe they’re messing with us,” grumbed Donna as she stepped under the tap. She said nothing else, as the cold stole the ability to talk from her. Her muscles clenched, hands forming fists, and she shivered so violently, she was afraid she’d never stop convulsing. Donna quickly scrubbed at herself with a bar of soap, clutching it so hard, her fingers left marks. 

Who had thought this was a good idea? She finished washing in record time and scurried to dry off and get dressed. The very air felt warm after the water. Several of the women looked slightly blue. “This is definitely on purpose,” said Groat as she toweled her hair dry. “Pressure was put on them to turn off the lights, so they’re trying to mess with us in any way possible.”

The guard looked up from her book, furrowing her eyebrows. “I don’t think the reason is quite so...sinister,” she said. Any possible counterarguments were cut short by the guard getting up and opening the door. Since it was almost dinnertime, they were led to their cells and had their doors locked behind them instead of being allowed back outside. 

The timing must have been carefully thought out, because just as Donna finished putting away her dirty clothes, they were called to queue for dinner. Scrambled eggs, potatoes, and cabbage, as well as a handful of canned fruit and water. The eggs were completely unseasoned, of course, but by now, Donna had become used to looking for subtle flavours in the food. The potatoes were slightly sweet, now that she thought about it. It was a faint hint, nothing like the fruits, but definitely there. 

Since the water was so cold it might as well have come from the shower, Donna only drank a few sips before dumping the rest down her sink. The temperature made her teeth hurt, and if she felt thirsty, she could always drink out of the sink, the water from which was warmer for no reason she could discern. After handing back the tray, Donna picked up a book and opened it up, settling back into her cot and kicking off her shoes. It was a foreign book about research ethics, and on nearly every page, Donna could find something that the IGR had done wrong. 

She read a hundred pages of the book before switching to a travel guide to the Middle East. Finishing a similarly sized chunk of that, Donna picked up her pen and began to work on her number puzzles. The feel of the flimsy paper was comforting in a way. She found the right page, but before starting the nonogram, she listened for steps and wrote her diary entry. Only then did Donna begin to count the little squares and fill them in, still listening for the sound of steps. Today, that would mean time to go to bed. 

When the footsteps that heralded the orderly collecting glasses and handing out medications finally sounded, Donna was already feeling ready to sleep. Perfect timing, then. Maybe a part of her brain had always been attuned to the orderly’s evening pass by the cells. She got ready for bed and waited for the lights to turn off. What would the cell even look like without the light bulb’s ever-present glare? She had been in darkness the previous year, but had very little memory of it.

Suddenly, the cell was different. It took Donna a few seconds to realize that this was darkness. She sat up and looked around. While it was definitely harder to see, her eyes adjusted quickly, and the light from outside made it even easier. She marveled at how different her cell looked without the lightbulb. It was all still there, she could see it, but there was something just a little bit off about it. The details were harder to make out, and the colours were almost gone, not like there had been any in the first place.

Donna lay back, closing her eyes. She was facing the ceiling, but there was no glare visible even through her eyelids, no burning light. It was like a cloak of coolness applied over a burn, soft and soothing. She smiled slightly. So nice, the darkness. She fell asleep about as quickly as before, but the time spent tossing and turning was much easier without trying to hide from the bright light.

* * *

Donna dreamt she was back in her jail cell, and the guards were blasting mournful tunes late at night. She awoke in darkness, still hearing the music, and thought for a second that she had somehow been taken to Thirteen without noticing. Then, she remembered. Heart hammering, she sat up slightly, unsticking her clothes from her skin. Even the blanket felt damp with sweat. The searchlights outside provided enough illumination to see by, and the music in the corridor seemed to permeate every fibre of her being.

_I await you ‘neath the tree_

_Would you go strolling with me?_

Well, at least it wasn’t _I will never forget you as long as I live/If I never see you again_ or _Don’t Lock Me Away_ , but it was bad enough. Was she actually hearing this or just hallucinating? Surely a noise couldn’t be so obnoxiously loud. Surely, someone should be complaining. Kim never missed a chance to complain about noises waking her up. This couldn’t be real, then. The air was cold on her sweat-covered skin, and so were the blankets now that she had tossed them off. 

_Darling, darling, answer, please_

_I await, will always wait_

_But for how long must we part?_

_Will we ever share a fate?_

Donna climbed back under the blankets, hiding from the cold. Her feet felt frozen. How could it be so cold at night when it was boiling hot during the day? The song ended, and began anew. This time, a single voice joined in. The other warden was probably sleeping, though how anyone could sleep with this haunting melody echoing in the corridor was beyond Donna’s understanding. She got up and scribbled an irritated diary entry in the weak light coming in from the window, and curled back up again in the cold blankets. When she woke up the next morning, she couldn’t remember the actual music, only that it had happened.


	21. One Less

There wasn’t a single drop of moisture in the soil. The dry clods crumbled underfoot, turning to dust and then to mud as Donna’s hose reached it. She stepped on a muddy patch, savouring the dampness. The water was warm, of course.

“Hey, look!” Theodosius said. “This cucumber looks ripe.” Donna looked over, coming face-to-face with a cucumber almost the length of her palm. She hadn’t noticed it before. It must have ripened very recently.

“So it is,” she said, crouching down and moving aside leaves in order to point the hose as close to the base of the plant as possible. The cucumbers were growing on metal arches, climbing up them and hanging on with little offshoots that found something to wrap around and held tight. Donna saw one flailing around far from the arch and wrapped it around the arch manually. Close by her was a tiny cucumber, smaller than her pinky. “Are you going to pick it?”

In response, Theodosius carefully pinched it off the vine. “No sense in letting it stay until it’s the size of a zucchini,” he said.

Donna tore off an extraneous leaf that was growing from a fork between two branches. The plants really needed pruning. “I think it’s bigger than any zucchini right now,” Donna pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” Theodosius said, holding out the cucumber to her. Right now the zucchinis were tiny, but in a few months, they would be half a metre long. Donna carefully took the cucumber in her left hand as she handed the hose to Theodosius with her right. The cucumber was spiky and painful to hold. She readjusted her grip, touching only the very ends where there were less spikes. “I’ll have to write to Cynthia about it,” he said dreamily. “First cucumber of the year.”

“Well, tell her to tell Dem and the kids I say hi,” Donna said.

Theodosius placed the cucumber in his pocket in a way that made half of it visible (otherwise, the guards would accuse him of trying to steal it). “Of course,” he said. “By the way, when are you getting your writing privileges back? I forgot.”

Donna scratched her head. “No idea,” she said. “Late summer-early fall, I think?”

“Just in time to describe the potato harvest?”

“Perfect timing indeed,” Donna said with a sardonic smile. “I’ll have to thank the administration for timing it so well to the most important time of the year.”

Theodosius continued to go through the plants, looking for any other fully-grown cucumbers. There were none. Cucumbers were supposed to start riping in July-ish, and, as far as Donna could remember, it was early June. Despite dating all of her diary entries, the numbers on the papers had long since ceased to be associated with words spoken out loud. Donna was, however, fairly certain that this cucumber was an anomaly. Or maybe this sort of cucumber became ripe a month early? Who knew what sorts of things Cotillion had managed to get up to in her labs.

“Oh, yeah,” Theodosius said softly. “I forgot your entire family has their birthdays in the next few weeks.” He yanked on the hose, and it didn’t budge. Donna moved it for him, undoing a knot. “Thanks.”

“Not my entire family,” Donna said. “Just my mother, my husband, my brother, and all of my children.”

“Wow, November really is a fun time of year in your family.” 

Donna shrugged. “It actually makes everything a lot easier. Just get them all out of the way at once. Remember, all of my kids have different birthdays. Not like you.”

“Nobody’s like me,” Theodosius said, bending down and pushing several large leaves aside. “I’ve never met anyone else who has two sets of twins.”

“Wait, really?” In the circles they had spun in, five kids had been on the lower end of things. “It doesn’t seem that unlikely if I think about it.” Water trickled between the beds in a small stream. “Also, you’re flooding everything.”

Theodosius stood up abruptly, spraying water everywhere. “Oh,” he said, aiming the hose at a dry patch of dirt. “I think we’re done here, anyway.” All the plants were watered. Donna went to turn off the hose, tap nearly hot enough to burn her fingers. It was mid-afternoon, the hottest time of day. Soon, the shadow of the prison would cover the yard, but for now, it was only a few metres long. As she walked, pebbles and dust bit into her bare feet. It was too hot for shoes, and her request for flip-flops got turned down because the directors said so.

When she got back, Theodosius was staring off into the distance. “I don’t know enough information off the top of my head to do the calculation,” he complained. “I’ll have to look up the frequency of twins and how many people give birth multiple times, but even that won’t be exact, because some women are predisposed to having fraternal twins, so that skews the odds, and I have no idea if identical twins are something that runs in the family. I think the formula is something like ‘if a person has at least four children, what are the odds of two sets of twins being among them.’”

“That’s not a formula,” Donna said as she began to prune the cucumbers. “That’s the problem you’re trying to solve.” How could someone spend years working with spreadsheets and not know the difference?

“In any case, I have no idea how to even start solving that.”

“It’s simple,” Donna said, tearing away a dead leaf. “Find the odds of having twins. Find the odds of having two sets of twins. Find out how many people have at least four children, and determine the theoretical percentage of them that should have two sets of twins.” She shoved a handful of dead leaves into the bucket by her feet.

Theodosius ran a hand through his hair and used the other to tear off leaves. “I forgot how to do math,” he explained. “Maybe I should ask for a textbook to study from.”

“And what paper will you use to solve the problems?” Donna asked. She herself only got two sheets of paper per week, in addition to the three she was constantly using, and usually gave them back untouched. In the absence of letter-writing, there was simply nothing that she could do with it that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

“I can write small,” Theodosius said. He tore off several offshoots and stuffed them into the bucket, which was already half-full. The cucumber patches were more like one giant patch separated into two for easier access, with a little path between them. Theodosius took a few steps sideways and moved the bucket as well, resting it on the wooden side of the vegetable bed. Donna stepped down and went to the other side of the bed, so they could be across from one another. She began pruning one plant. Tearing away the shoots was sometimes difficult, but not nearly as bad as pruning tomatoes. The plants stained her hands black for some reason.

Cucumbers, however, could be spiky. Not only were the actual cucumbers covered with tiny spikes that had to be scraped away before it could be held easily, but the leaves were also not something Donna wanted to grab. She used a light touch instead. “We have a better harvest of leaves than of cucumbers,” she pointed out.

Theodosius looked at his bucket. “That we do,” he said. There was a lone cucumber sticking out of his trousers pocket, and a nearly full bucket of dead leaves and offshoots. “I just hope the ratio gets better over time.” The previous year, the cucumber harvest had been tiny, but hopefully that was simply the result of inexperience and it would be better this year.

“Well, it certainly can’t get any worse.”

“Unless phytophthora shows up.”

Donna was taken aback. “Does phytophthora even attack cucumbers? I thought it was just tomatoes and potatoes.” The tomato harvest the previous year had been rather paltry as well due to the fungus eating everything before it could grow.

“There’s a bunch of different varieties, and most target dicotyledons,” Theodosius explained. As Minister of Resources, he would have had to be familiar with factors that could imperil the fulfillment of his quotas. “You can kind of fight it, but the best way to prevent it is to grow resistant varieties.”

“Resistant varieties, huh?” Donna inspected a dead leaf, dry and flaky. She dumped it in the bucket, together with a small weed. “Maybe Cotillion should have focused on growing phytophthora-resistant tomatoes instead of breeding eyeless children. I mean, she got along with Nitza, didn’t she? I vaguely remember that they were university friends.” The former Steelworks head engineer was very enthusiastic about her tomato plants and the mere thought of phytophthora was enough to make her gnash her teeth. “Would’ve been a good thing to do, all friendly-like.”

“I’m shocked they didn’t,” Theodosius said. “While it’s not too difficult to prevent, it was still one of the biggest problems the agricultural Districts had to deal with. And if Zevin and Cotillion had time to custom-make humans, they had the time to improve crop yields.” He shifted over to another plant. The two plants looked completely different, one almost bare, the other a hopeless tangle of leaves and vines. “This was actually one of the main reasons quotas couldn’t be met, that and natural disaster. Or both at once. Did you know that poor soil drainage is a risk factor for phytophthora?”

Donna looked suspiciously at the muddy ground of the path between the vegetable beds. “Hopefully this isn’t bad enough.”

“Oh, no, it’s not. It has to be systematic,” Theodosius explained. “It is bad enough to make my feet hopelessly dirty, though,” he added, trying to scrape mud off his foot on the wooden side, which was also mud-covered. Both of them had streaks of mud on their feet that reached above the ankle. Their knees were so dirty, it threatened to obscure the numbers painted on them. Hopefully nobody would be upset by that. The only way to keep one’s knees clean was to squat constantly, and few of the prisoners were in good enough shape to do so. Donna was standing on one knee as she pruned the bottom of the plant, checking it for signs of phytophthora or anything else of that sort.

When she stood up, that knee was covered with mud. “Ugh. How am I supposed to clean this?” Donna complained. Laundry was several days away. She tried to scrape at it, but just got her hand even dirtier.

“You better clean that up before a director wanders in and thinks you’re trying to obscure the numbers,” Theodosius said with mock severity. He was partially right, though. When the directors wandered around, even the silence rule was obeyed sometimes. Donna tried to brush off the damp mud, but enough stained the fabric to make the white paint dim. She unrolled that trouser leg and used the hose to wash it off instead. 

“Problem solved,” Donna said as she rolled the leg back up to mid-calf, so that the number was just barely fully visible. “And my leg cools off, thanks to the water.” She tore out a few small weeds. “Ugh, more weeds already. Honestly, sometimes I feel like if the weeds are so stubborn, they’re welcome to it all.”

“Well, they also want to live,” Theodosius said. “They’re just better at it than the other plants.” He paused his pruning to re-apply sunscreen. How he knew when to do so was a mystery to Donna. Then he picked up his bucket to go dump it. Since Donna’s was also full, she went with him. At the compost pile, they were dragged into a conversation between Vartha and Holder. 

“Did Krechet and Talvian get along?” Holder asked them.

“Depends on when,” Donna explained. “They certainly did not get along during the trial. Before, though...” she fished for a good way to express it. “They were fun at parties.” Vartha and Holder stared at her wide-eyed. Holder had never even seen the Capitol until his arrest, and Vartha, having been the head of the legal department at the Steelworks, simply hadn’t been important enough to know more than gossip.

Theodosius cut in, dumping out the contents of his bucket. “Remember, Krechet was the deputy in any case. It was Blackstone Talvian did the official interactions with, and the two of them were feuding constantly. There were rumours that Talvian was being friendly to Krechet as a sign of wanting to support him against Blackstone.”

“There were also rumours that Krechet was secretly the father of Talvian’s children,” Donna said dismissively. “You could write a whole book that was just rumours about them if you wanted.”

Holder put down his bucket and folded his arms on his chest, rubbing his fingers against themselves. “Wait, was that actually true?” 

“Of course not!” Theodosius said. Donna felt jealous of the former Peacekeeper. Such naivete was lethal in the higher echelons of government. “Just look at Talvian’s children. They are all in the bottom percentile for height. Just like both their parents.” Talvian, who would have needed to wear heels to reach a metre fifty, had somehow managed to find herself a husband who was the same size. This attempt to soothe her insecurities was completely unnecessary, as people would find themselves bending down awkwardly to talk to her no matter how much taller they were.

Holder still looked confused. Donna rushed to explain. “Krechet was very large, two metres tall and burly. The odds of him having multiple children who are all very short is almost nil.” 

“Alright, that makes sense,” Holder said. “You gotta keep in mind, I spent my life in the outer Districts. I never even heard about Krechet or Blackstone or any of you until I was dragged to the Capitol.”

“Don’t worry,” Vartha said kindly. “I don’t know that much either, just gossip. These two?” he said, pointing at Donna and Theodosius. “They were right at the centre of it all. So, tell us, please, what kind of parties were Talvian and Krechet fun at?” Vartha asked.

Donna desperately tried to remember any particularly salacious bits. “There was a photograph shown at out trial, of Talvian literally hanging off Krechet’s arm at a party. Someone took it on their phone. I think it was Dovek’s wife, actually. It was used as evidence to show that the two of them worked closely.”

More stares. “How did they find the photo?” Holder asked.

Theodosius gnashed his teeth. “Meersten, that’s how.” Meersten had handled publicity for Snow and dealt with social media, and offered his services to the prosecution in an attempt to get a reduced sentence. Donna had glimpsed him once, sitting at a computer surrounded by folders from the archives and drinking endless cups of coffee. “Meersten and Chime. He knew where everything was and had once kept watch over the surveillance network, and she knew the secret archives like the back of her hand.”

So much anguish had been caused by Meersten and Chime to Donna, so much time spent worrying what they would dig up in a hard drive or an archive somewhere. She could imagine them even now, drinking coffee and chewing gummies that soldiers had given them in exchange for photographs. The prosecution had mostly asked for the defendants together in informal settings, or next to Snow and preferably smiling, or at a particularly inhuman worksite in the Districts. The soldiers had been obsessed with getting their hands on photos of Snow in his rose garden, or with his granddaughter, or doing any other normal thing. However, none of them managed to get Snow himself to sign the prints for them. They had had better luck with the key criminals. Donna had never imagined that someone would ever want her signature to sell.

Noticing interest in the eyes of Vartha and Holder, Donna explained more about the photographs. “Aw,” said Holder. “Nobody asked us for our autographs. They just glared at us all the time, as if we were the traitors.”

“It honestly became quite insane,” Theodosius said. “There were brochures printed explaining who we were and what we were being charged with, and a lot of the guards managed to get a full set of signatures. I’m not sure why anyone would need our signatures, but they paid in candy and coffee, so I was more than glad to sign.”

Donna remembered those brochures and the comments her fellow defendants had written beside the list of crimes they were accused of. They had been the most coveted bit of Trial memorabilia, but most had stuck to plain pieces of paper or photographs hurriedly printed off on cheap paper. “Someone asked me to sign a dollar bill once,” she said. “They collected signatures on it.” That was the first dollar bill the soldier had ever held in her hands, and she had apparently wanted to have a more stark reminder of who had triumphed in the end.

“I’m kind of jealous now,” Vartha joked. “Although I suppose no attention is always better when you’re on trial. All the newspapers wrote about you people, and we only got the spotlight way later.”

“What was it like in jail?” Holder asked. “The lawyers showed us the newspapers a few times, and they complained about you living in good conditions.”

Why was Holder so chatty all of a sudden? The former Peacekeepers generally did not like to talk about anything that happened after 75. Or sometimes even 74. Holder didn’t think the same way most people did, but still. “Pretty good,” she said, lowering her voice as much as possible. “The psychologist and psychiatrist that studied us are actually releasing their book next year, so you’ll be able to get the inside scoop.”

“But will the administration let us read it?” Holder asked, frowning. “They said that kind of stuff is not allowed.” Was he lying for the benefit of potential ears or sincerely incapable of critical thinking? Given his record, Donna suspected the latter. Holder had distinguished himself in Ten and Eleven as being incapable of not doing as he was told, a tendency that had made him the target of pranks early on during his training. The pranks had stopped when the instructors realized that they had someone on their hands who would never speak out, no matter what. That had just fed Holder’s extreme deference to authority. 

From target of pranks, he became one of the most vicious enforcers Ten had ever seen. He could be assigned to a village for years, be ordered to execute someone he had interacted with daily, and follow the order without even asking why. If an officer told him to shoot a random child in the middle of the street (bored Peacekeepers were vicious Peacekeepers), he did it without a second thought, as several witnesses ended up attesting to. Holder had always believed that it was the people up top who determined right and wrong, and if it hurt to follow an order - well, so be it. He never enjoyed what he did and yet never showed a sign of strain. Not a sadist, and yet a remorseless killer. The psychiatrists had spent months on Holder before eventually pronouncing him capable of standing trial, though the fact that something was different about his mind was carefully used by the defense and got him a lighter sentence.

In a prison uniform, Holder didn’t look like the man who haunted the dreams of people who had never even met him. He was a fidgety man in his mid-fifties, fiddling with a loose thread in his shirt, which was unbuttoned and had the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find a way to read the book,” Theodosius said. Holder began to nod, before stopping.

“No,” he said abruptly. “I don’t think so. The rules say we can’t have material on the trials, which means we won’t be able to have it.” He paused, twisting the loose thread around his fingers. “Right?”

“I was thinking along the lines of the rules being relaxed by then,” Theodosius said cautiously.

Holder rubbed at his face with a hand. “I never even thought of that!” he said. “Ah well. My psychologist says it’s better to speak up if you think something is wrong, even if you’re not confident.” He still looked very uncomfortable. “I thought maybe you were just trying to comfort me.”

It often seemed that Holder should have been serving his sentence in a secure mental hospital. Donna had no idea how he could have been cross-examined when he believed the last thing told to him and did not know the meaning of tact. “Uh, yes,” she said awkwardly. “You shouldn’t stay silent if something’s wrong.” How had the man not gotten washed out in training? What had possessed the instructors to think that someone who was this bad at dealing with people could police them?

Vartha looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Um, Mr. Holder, Aslanov probably needs you by now,” he said. Holder nodded and marched off, bucket swinging. Vartha turned back to Donna and Theodosius. “I swear, every encounter with him drains me. It’s like talking to a child. At least I didn’t have to lie to him, it always ends up awkward.”

“He wasn’t this chatty before,” Theodosius explained. “I don’t think either of us talked to him even once before today.”

“How was he even tried?” Vartha asked, grimacing. “I’ve met middle-schoolers who think critically better than him. It’s like sentencing someone who’s mentally ill!”

Donna shook her head. “Mentally ill, but still capable of answering for his own actions. Holder was aware that he was doing something wrong, and he was aware that others refused to follow criminal orders and nothing happened to them. It would have been harder for him to make the connection between the two, but the psychologists made their decision - and believe me, they did _not_ want a questionable situation.” She wasn’t sure she believed her own words, though.

“Well, you’re the one who was furnished with newspapers,” Vartha said with a shrug. “Still looks bad, you know. If there was a single person in the world who cared about him, I am willing to bet he would not be here right now.”

It was Theodosius’ turn to shrug. “Maybe. But Smith, the one from Victors’ Affairs, has been skipping around humming for who knows how long, and she has plenty of family.”

“I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m in a mental hospital,” Vartha complained. “Maybe it’s the gardening and crocheting. Maybe it’s Smith and Holder. Maybe I’m the one falling to pieces.” He rubbed at his face. “I’m worried about not being able to adapt, and worried about being able to adapt. When I get out, will I recognize the world?” He leaned against the wall, hidden in the shade.

Such a question would have been awkward from literally anyone else. Vartha, though, would get out only four years before Donna and Theodosius. “I worry about that, too,” Donna said. “Everything’s passing us by. We get no newspapers, only bits and pieces when the guards feel like it. I have no idea what the day and month is. Thanks to the ban on letters, I have no idea what’s happening to my family.” It felt good to express her feelings, even if the words were false.

“Well, that’s how it is,” Vartha said. “Weren’t you the one who said your sentence was just?”

Donna didn’t rise to the bait. “It is. Doesn’t mean I like it. When I was in university I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, but when exams came around, I complained so much you’d have thought I was being forced.” Vartha nodded his head slightly, but Donna had a feeling he didn’t believe her.

* * *

Hidden behind several tins of nails was a little square box of thin cardboard that held small wooden stakes. Hardly daring to believe her luck, Donna put down the bucket where she stood and picked up the box. She took a mostly empty tin and dumped its contents into the other, and put the stakes into the now-empty tin. The box, she collapsed and put in her pocket. She looked around, heart hammering. Nobody. Good.

The cardboard box had a base almost as long and wide as her palm lying flat and a side slightly taller than her palm without the thumb lying sideways. It had a lid that was attached on one side. The cardboard was undyed, a muddy brownish-grey. Her pen should show up well on it. But how was she going to store it? While Donna could probably write enough to cover it all in one sitting, she didn’t want to waste it. She was planning to rip it up into multiple pieces, but how to store the pieces? 

Cells could be searched at any moment, and even though the searches were barely perfunctory, it took one guard trying to get back into administration’s good graces to ruin everything. If she tried to store the cardboard on herself, she’d only have three days to use it, because their clothes were searched during the shower. Hiding it in the shed or somewhere else in the yard was out of the question, Donna wasn’t willing to take the risk.

Perhaps a combined approach would be necessary, although the sheer amount of paper was a problem in and of itself. Pockets were not a good long-term storage place, the slightest sign that something was in there and someone would command her to turn them inside-out, but the more discreet hiding spots were too small for so much relatively thick paper. There was no way she’d be able to hide all this in her socks, and even if she managed to fit it in, the guards would realize she wasn’t rolling up her trouser legs in the garden and get suspicious.

Maybe if she spread it out carefully. For now, she put her hands in her pockets, to hide the fact that there was something else in one of them. Once she got to her cell, she’d rip it apart and re-hide it in her clothes. Before the shower, Donna would hide the pieces in her box of dirty laundry. She had done a few experiments; the guards never looked in there. For a few hours, the risk seemed acceptable.

Donna’s contemplations were interrupted by a warden shouting for everyone to gather around her. She stepped out of the shed and approached the woman from Eleven. What sort of news would a warden announce? Donna was too busy wondering about the box to think about it much.

“Male Twenty-Six is dead!” the warden announced.

Oh. 

That wasn’t a surprise. The former deputy head of Victors’ Affairs had been dying for months. It still felt strange. There was one less Supermaxer now, and the number would only go down. Sixty-four prisoners in a prison that had once housed a thousand. Had Townsend had family? As far as Donna knew, he had been married, but he had never mentioned children.

The prisoners were shepherded to their cells immediately afterwards, giving Donna no chance to talk to Theodosius about it. Well, there was always tomorrow.

After dinner, which consisted of rice with chicken and vegetables, a piece of bread, a sad-looking pear, and hot tea, Donna listened for footsteps before carefully tearing apart the box at the folds. She tore off the sides in a way that kept two of the sides attached to each other, forming a card. Now, she had two cards, and the top and bottom could be folded to make more.

Emboldened by the fact that she was even sitting here and doing this in the first place, Donna put all of the pieces except for one card into the box with dirty laundry. Now, what to write? Certainly not about Townsend. Congratulate everyone with their birthdays? Not yet, they were only starting tomorrow. Next week would be a good time. 

_02/06/78 Greetings from the Supermax Resort! I was finally able to get some real postcards, so you won’t have to worry about flimsy paper getting torn en route, haha. The garden is doing very well. We harvested our first cucumber today. Drawing of hand for scale._ Donna drew the cucumber and her palm. _Everything is showing signs of growth, the hard part will now be to actually have them grow to the point where they’re worth harvesting. But then again, the actual hard part is the raising, isn’t it? I hope you’re treating your poor dad well, he’s got plenty of things to worry about. But then again, I know you kids would never do anything to upset him._

_Everything here is so bright-green it’s hard to believe at times. The leaves on the trees, the grass in the little patch off to the side, even the weeds are beautiful if you stop to think about it._ She had drawn an approximate map of the yard a while back for her family. _The colours are wonderful. So much green. The contrast with the grey walls is unbelievable. Brown bark, green leaves, grey walls. The path, too, is colourful in a way. When it’s dry and hot it’s a light tan, but when it rains, it becomes a dark brown. The opposite of me, haha. I wish I had coloured pencils to draw it for you, but I doubt I could depict the brightness and clarity even if I had them. I suppose you could just go outside, look at the grass, and imagine me doing likewise. -Your mom_

Donna folded the card and put it in her pocket. The sympathetic guard would be coming around tonight to take away anything she wanted to pass on. When would her family even get it? The next day? Next week? Would they look at the date and feel disappointed? All mail went from the sympathetic guard to Livia and Dancer, and from them, anything addressed to her family went to Dem, who showed it to the kids if necessary. It was a lengthy process. Donna had nothing but time, but her family didn’t.

She put down her pen and began to read her book, waiting for the guard to come around. Now that she didn’t have anything to distract herself with, Donna couldn’t stop thinking about Townsend, dying all alone in the little infirmary on the second floor.


	22. Progress

It was so hot, water droplets evaporated from Donna’s skin in seconds. The guards, stuck in long sleeves by regulations, drooped as they leaned against the wall or a tree. Theodosius looked like he couldn’t make up his mind as to whether it was better to cover up or get rid of the constricting material. He was carrying an empty bucket in a hand that glistened with sunscreen to the elbow, but he had also tucked an undershirt under his cap to protect his neck.

The grass of the patch they crossed to get to the onions was green and soft, but only thanks to intensive watering. “Do you think the people know that when they pay taxes, they fund our meadow?” Donna asked, wiping at her face. She had just drenched herself with water, as it was so hot, sweat evaporated immediately, and the water was trickling from her hair into her eyes.

“I’m sure some journalist or other has complained about what exactly the Capitol funds,” Theodosius answered.

“True,” Donna said. She placed her bucket on the ground and got on her knees beside it. The onion stems had long since been harvested, and their stumps – withered. It was time to harvest them, finally. Harvesting, while often just as physically demanding as weeding, was still more enjoyable. Harvesting was a finite task, unlike pulling up weeds over and over just to see them grow back a few days later. Theodosius tried to pull out an onion, and failed. He took a spade out of his bucket and used it to dig it up. Donna watched with bated breath as a large bulb, as big as his palm, was removed from the ground. 

“Huh,” Theodosius said. “The ash must have worked.”

Using her hands, Donna dug up another onion. It was not quite as big as the onions sold in the store, but it wasn’t too far off. Not like the tiny onions of last year. “They’re massive!” she exclaimed. Donna cursorily wiped the dirt off the onion and placed it into the bucket for the moment. They’d spread them out on the meadow to dry once they got everything. For now, though, Donna and Theodosius dug up the onions and placed them in buckets. There were several other patches of onions, and also of the garlic that was ready for harvesting as well. The soil crumbled under her fingers at the slightest pressure. Donna dug deeply, getting her fingers under the onion, and pulled out the large bulb. A little crater remained, the soil slightly damp to the touch but rapidly drying in the heat. She tossed the onion into the bucket.

On the other onion patch, West was slowly digging, motions weak and jerky. The prisoners had two options – work, or sitting around doing nothing. And anything was better than sitting around doing nothing, even yard work in forty-degree heat. Donna shoved a finger into a small burrow, trying to track where it ended, but it led deep underground. What lived in it?

“You think it’s a mole cricket?” Donna asked. The giant insects were partially to blame when something didn’t grow. As big as a thumb, the burrowing creature was a menace.

“Maybe,” Theodosius said. “In any case, it’s pretty big. Where do you think that tunnel leads?” He sat down in the dust and reapplied sunscreen, slathering on a thick layer.

Donna shrugged. “Maybe it leads outside,” she said. “Maybe the mole cricket crosses these walls every single day whenever it wants.”

Theodosius looked at the wall closest to them. “I wish we could talk to it,” he said dreamily. “Then, we could find out what’s going on out there.”

Donna suddenly felt very envious of the mole cricket. “I bet it’s nice and cool in the burrow as well,” she added. She took the sunscreen and put it on, covering all the exposed parts of her. It was hard to believe that the thin material of her undershirt could provide any protection from the sun, but she had never heard of anyone being burned through fabric.

Technically speaking, there wasn’t a rule that prohibited them from not wearing undershirts, they just needed to wear their shirt in a way that made their numbers easy to see. However, only a few had ever tried to put on their shirt over a bra or a bare chest, and only for very short periods of time, like when doing the laundry. Donna wasn’t sure why, as the fabric of their clothes was terrible for the heat. She tried to roll up a sleeve further up, but that just made that section of her upper arm overheat. A request to cut off the sleeves had been made by Koy a while back, but the former Steelworks head of construction in Two got rejected. Most likely, the directors had been unable to get a consensus, and thus, they were stuck with the sleeves. Donna pulled the edges of her shirt behind her and tucked them into her trousers in the middle of her back. At least it wouldn’t be touching her as much.

“I need water,” Theodosius said and ambled off in the direction of the taps. He walked slowly, dragging his feet, barely nodding to others in greeting. Dust rose from under his feet as he shambled, like a puppet being dragged by a single string. Donna wished they could have water bottles, instead of having to walk back and forth constantly. She dug up another onion and brushed off the dirt and some of the flaking outer layer of the husk. An ordinary yellow onion, just like the ones could buy in a store. Donna smiled.

When Theodosius got back, he was completely drenched. “You’ll wash off your sunscreen,” Donna warned. Her mouth felt dry.

“It’s water-resistant,” he said, squatting down and digging up another onion. “Hey - there’s two of them here!” Theodosius held up two onions that had grown so close to each other, they looked like two halves of one onion. He took one in each hand.

Donna took one of the onions. “Huh. It’s a perfect hemisphere.” She placed it into her bucket. “We should put them in separate buckets, so that the staff gets confused when there’s an onion with a flat side for some reason.” Theodosius giggled and placed the onion he had been holding into his bucket.

The buckets filled quickly. Donna carried them to the meadow and upended them onto the grass. The bulbs tumbled out, followed by dust and bits of husk. She spread them out to dry, brought the buckets back to Theodosius, and went to get some water. Her head felt strange, heavy and woozy. Maybe she was getting heatstroke. The sun pressed down on her like a stifling blanket, searing away every drop of water. Donna passed two guards who looked utterly dead. One of them, a guard from Thirteen Donna had never seen before, looked to be badly sunburnt.

The guards and civilian workers of the prison came and went with little fanfare. When a director was replaced it would probably draw more attention, but for now, Donna and the rest of the prisoners only found out someone had left or arrived after it had happened. The two wardens and two guards (half female, half male) each District sent to watch over the prisoners inside the walls were practically interchangeable to Donna, save for the sympathetic guard. They were on a rota Donna did not know, as they hid the schedule as zealously as the nuclear codes.

The perimeter guards, whom Donna never saw face-to-face except when they snuck down into the yard from time to time, were a different story. There were eight from each District, four women and four men. Each month, half of them were replaced with much fanfare and marching while the other half continued to patrol the perimeter and man the guard towers. All in all, one hundred and fifty-six guards watched over the sixty-four prisoners, though not all at once. And two of them were desperately trying to stay cool just a metre from her, in spite of the fact that even the shade felt like being in a sauna.

Donna walked by the bright-red guard and eventually reached the taps. She drank several large mouthfuls of water. No sense in drinking too much and then feeling sick. Despite being tepid, it still tasted amazing. Was she hallucinating or was it slightly sweet to the taste? Donna reluctantly took her head out from under the tap. She poured handfuls of water over her head, glad that there were no notes hidden under her clothes and she could get them as soaked as she wanted.

Next to her, Li effortlessly upended a full bucket over his head. Donna felt no surprise. The man could probably juggle full buckets of water if he wanted. He noticed her staring, and waved awkwardly. “It’s hot out here,” he said, wiping at his face. His forearm was bigger than Donna’s calf. “I feel like I’m being cooked alive.”

“I hope I don’t get heatstroke,” Donna said, feeling water trickle down the back of her neck.

Li wiped at his face. “Don’t let one of the old ones hear you say that,” he whispered, nodding at Rodriguez. At eighty-two, the former publicity chief of the Training Centre was the oldest of the prisoners, though he only had six years left in here. He wasn’t in the best of health, however, and it was looking increasingly unlikely that he’d meet the life expectancy. Looking utterly worn out, the old man was sitting against the wall in the shade, asleep. Donna felt bad for complaining, even though she felt completely terrible, too.

There was a strange taste in the back of her mouth and her head still felt weird. Donna opened the tap, took off her cap, and shoved her entire head under the water. She soaked her cap as well and put it back on. “That’s better,” she said, blinking water out of her eyes. “Wish the water was cold, though.”

“Cold water’s only in winter,” Li pointed out. When Donna headed back towards the onions, he followed her.

Donna tucked a strand of hair under her cap. It was growing out slightly. The monthly haircut was probably approaching. “True,” Donna said. “Reminds me of when I was in university. In the older buildings, we needed to wear jackets in the winter and icepacks - in summer.”

“Huh,” said Li. “I wonder if they’ve fixed it by now. Although, from what I’ve heard, all the air conditioning got stolen and taken to the southern Districts.”

Donna had heard the same rumours. The District rebels, especially the ones from the poorer Districts, had stripped the Capitol of nearly everything useful, even robbing her own house of anything that could be moved. “Most likely,” Donna said. “In any case, the university would never have been a priority. The students have worn coats in winter for decades and decades, it’s practically a tradition by now.”

“And I thought we were tough when we had to train in freezing-cold gyms,” Li said. “At least we got to move around. You had to sit at a desk for hours. And take notes.”

There was something off about that comparison. “You were supposed to be trained for harsh conditions,” she pointed out. “The average desk worker will never need to be able to write by hand with numb fingers.”

“That just proves my point,” Li said. “You were expecting a soft life, but had all that dumped on you. That just makes you tougher, because you were completely unprepared and still did it.” They reached the onions and resumed digging them up, Li figuring out the technique quickly.

“Were you always aware of what you were being trained for?” Donna asked, slightly nervous at asking such a personal question. Not everyone liked to talk about their own past. Theodosius paused digging, interested to hear what the former Death Squad member had to say. He had only talked about his advanced training before.

Li scratched his head, thinking. “My parents always intended to have me apply to the Academy,” he said eventually. “At least I think. They were both miners, so having a child become a Peacekeeper would have been a boon.” He paused. “I don’t know what I thought. I don’t really remember _thinking_ anything that early on, only a few images.” Many children born in Two started going to Academy camps and programs when they were six years old. “I was supposed to start working early,” Li continued, “but my parents sent me to the programs instead. In hindsight, that was when it was sealed, but I remember when I was twelve and had just submitted my application, I kind of hoped I’d get rejected so I could go to work with the rest of the kids in the neighbourhood. I always felt strange because I was one of the few who went to school all the time. Stupid, of course. You couldn’t attend the kids’ programs and then not get in.” Donna was frozen on the spot, hands half-buried in the dirt.

Li pulled an onion out of the ground and carefully removed some of the peeling husk. “I moved away then. Only saw my parents when I got leave. Strange to think of children having to go on leave to see their parents, but that was that. If there’s one thing Paylor did right, it’s prohibiting military service for the under-nineteens.” He shook his head, staring at the onion. “It was messed up, you know. I never recognized it. My dedication, my hard work, discipline, loyalty - all of it twisted, and I’m the one forced to answer for it!”

In a quieter voice, he continued. “You can’t punish a soldier for following orders. That’s our job. That was my job since I was twelve. I never gave a criminal order in my life. They pulled me from the officers’ stream once they noticed how much physically stronger and faster I was. I guess even then, they thought I could be useful. All part of a plan. When I graduated, they stationed me locally.” He tapped his fingers on the onion, staring into space. “I served my tour, and they told me to go in for extra training. That’s all I did. Trained. When they sent me to the Capitol, it was like a dream I never even knew I had coming true. I followed people, yes. Stalked them. But I had to! I had never even known that it was possible to disobey. And I never killed anyone!” Li tossed the onion into the bucket, breathing heavily. “I did what I was told. We all did. It was our duty. We were soldiers. And they killed all of us, except me and Stonesmith.” He shook his head sadly. “We were supposed to die fighting, or failing that, go underground and fight another day. But out of the squad of thirty, sixteen surrendered. Fifteen death sentences. You know, we were always told that to die for Snow and Panem was the highest glory. But I didn’t want to die. Even if it means I’ll be stuck in here for another fifty years, I want to live.” Li’s hands scrabbled in the dirt, trying to get a firm grip on an onion. “But I don’t want to be stuck in here! I shouldn’t be.”

Donna pushed away some dirt, trying to see where the onion was. It was buried very deeply. Li was grimacing. Theodosius was rubbing at his face with a dirty hand. Only the most fanatical and dedicated had joined the Death Squad. That had been made clear. Even so, there had been a handful of desertions and hushed-up suicides. Donna found herself wishing that Li could have been one of them. Why was it that two people from the same background could act so differently under the same circumstances?

* * *

The empty patch looked satisfying. Donna smoothed it out with a rake as Theodosius bent down to pick out the occasional weed or missed onion. “I wonder what the kids are doing right now,” he said.

“Well, you’re the one getting letters,” Donna shrugged. “You never told me what Cynthia sent you yesterday.”

Theodosius looked incredulous. “I didn’t tell you?” he asked as Li came back from spreading out the final bucket of onions.

“No.”

Li spoke up. “In any case, I would greatly like to hear about your children,” he said.

Theodosius stood up and shook the dirt from his knees. “They’re alright,” he said. “Enjoying the summer. They’re spending a lot of time at the cottage. My eldest is going to visit next month.”

“How old are they?” Li asked.

That simple question took Theodosius by surprise. He had to count on his fingers. “Uh, he’s eleven?” he said uncertainly.

“That’s correct,” Donna came to his rescue. “Lars was born in the same year, and he turned eleven in June.”

Theodosius rubbed at his face. “I should have remembered that. I told him a while back that maybe he should wait until he’s twelve, but Cynthia allowed it.”

“Is it really that hard to remember?” Li asked.

“Well, yes,” Theodosius said. “It’s not just because we’re separated from them, but that does make it worse. Children grow fast. You blink, and they’re almost twelve!”

Donna grimaced at that. “My eldest was twelve when I was arrested. She’s fourteen now. Fourteen! She’s starting highschool soon. It’s insane. She’s as tall as I am, too.”

“Huh,” said Li. “I can’t imagine what it must be like.” He took off his cap and fanned his face with it. The shadows were rapidly lengthening, but it was suffocatingly stuffy and there was no wind.

“Don’t you keep in touch with your family?” Theodosius asked.

Li shook his head. “They visited me twice during the trial, sent me a couple of letters. Nothing since then. They said they support me, but I suppose I’m too much of an inconvenience. Two stands up for its veterans, but the leaders will only let them do so much.” He shrugged, putting his cap back on. “Mrs. Blues, you said your daughter finished grade eight. What’s that like?”

“Well, she’s not doing very well,” Donna said. “She just goes through the motions, barely passes her classes, spends her time reading instead. If only I could be there to encourage her-” she cut off as her voice gave out. She wouldn’t even be there for Octavius’ university graduation, much less any of Donna’s milestones.

“That’s the one named after you, right?” Donna nodded.

“In hindsight, not a very good fit,” Theodosius joked. “Also, why are we standing?” He looked around, as if unsure of why he was there.

Li eyed the patch. “Looks good to me,” he said. “Do you want to keep on going over it or deal with the lettuce?”

“I thought Xu was going to pull up the lettuce!” Theodosius sounded almost excited. “Let’s get to it, then!” He led them in the direction of the lettuce patch where the leafy vegetable needed to be harvested before it went bad.

Half had already been collected, and the three of them began to pull the other half out of the ground. Donna shook the dirt off a bunch and broke off the root. The leaves went into one bucket, and the roots - into another. It was a quick job, faster than trying to find the onions under a thick layer of dusty soil. “Wait, so where is Xu, then?” Donna asked as she did a quick count of how many buckets there were. Who had brought them in and then not done the harvesting? Xu?

“She offered to switch with me last-minute,” Li explained. “Wanted to water the meadow.” Looking around, Donna noticed Xu standing by the taps and talking to several other industry people. A coiled hose was slung over one thin shoulder.

“Well, her loss,” Theodosius said, shaking the dirt off a bunch of lettuce. “Are we going to plant more lettuce now, or do it later?”

“Now,” Li said. “Better to not waste time. It grows fast, but not that fast.” The variety they were growing took a month and a half to mature fully, and they tended to pick part of it early in any case. It was similar with the radishes, which were sown every two weeks. Donna had no idea how many times they had done so this year. Before, she had thought that harvest was something that lasted a few days. In reality, it was a continuous process. While there was a peak from August to September, there was still plenty to pull out of the ground before and after.

Fabula walked by with an armful of garlic. The small patch was now empty, save for a few plants that were being allowed to go to seed. On the lettuce patch as well, a few plants were being left in the ground for seeds. “I don’t get it,” Donna said. “Why are they bothering to get seeds from the plants? How much can a packet of seeds cost, anyway?”

“Self-sufficiency?” Theodosius quipped.

Donna sighed. “They’re literally buying soil and fertilizer by the tens of kilograms, but a packet of lettuce seeds is too expensive?”

“Maybe that’s why they can’t afford seeds,” Theodosius continued. “They spent all the money on soil and fertilizer.”

Li cut in. “Ah, so that’s where the food budget went!” he said in a deadpan voice. Donna chuckled. The sheer monotony of the food was enough to drive anyone to insanity, especially if they worked in the yard.

“Indeed,” agreed Theodosius. “It’s all part of a grand conspiracy to bore us to death.” Donna remembered Dovek making that exact same joke when particularly irrelevant documents were being read during the trial. His death, however, had come at the end of a rope, though not because of the “grand conspiracy” to plan and carry out the Hunger Games, as the tribunal eventually figured out that everyone who could be considered to be an original organizer was long-dead.

“Quoting Dovek is kind of unfair, you know,” Donna said as Li giggled at the joke. “I think he had quips for every single occasion. Remember when during Slice’s case, he couldn’t go for an hour without making a pun?”

“I’d rather not,” he said. “I think he was just jealous that she was going to go free and he was going to die.”

“Wait,” said Li, “you actually thought she’d be found not guilty? All of us were shocked.”

Donna shook her head. “I heard the rumours, but I was still shocked when it actually happened.”

Li nodded. “In hindsight, it’s obvious. They had to find someone not guilty so they could pretend it was a fair trial.”

“I think the fact that we’re still breathing is enough proof of that,” Donna argued. “They could have just killed us all had they wanted.”

Pulling out a handful of lettuce and shaking off the dirt, Li began to rehash the argument for the hundredth time. “Paylor’s smarter than that,” he said. “She knows they need a veneer of justice over the entire thing, or the people won’t stand for it.” Privately, Donna was fairly sure that they would have stood for it, and gladly. Polls had shown that a sizable majority, even in the Capitol, had favoured summary execution for her and the rest of them.

“You know what sort of moods permeated society back then,” she said, putting it in a more careful way. “Paylor went against what the majority wanted. Sure, now they just want to be done with the entire thing, but back then, none of us expected any form of justice.”

“Maybe she did then,” Li said, “but now, she’s the mouthpiece of public opinion.”

Theodosius disagreed. “You do know how many competing interests she’s dealing with, right? I don’t think there _is_ such a thing as a Panem public opinion.”

“Well, she’s the one who gave the Districts more autonomy,” Li argued. “If you ask me, that was a mistake. Look at the sort of chaos going on out there. The country only avoided famine because of foreign aid!”

“Yes,” said Donna, “but who secured the foreign aid? Who created an atmosphere where other countries, for once in nearly a century, felt secure enough to actually do something instead of shivering in fear of nukes?” She punctured the last question by gesturing at Li with a handful of lettuce. “I think it’s too early to really judge how Paylor is doing.”

“Well, then we’ll have to revisit this question in a decade or two.” Li smiled sardonically. Changing the topic slightly, he added, “You know, I’m curious to see what’s so good about this democracy thing. So far, it seems like it’s just a bunch of shouting and arguing, and nothing gets done.”

Donna had often asked the same question when hearing news from the political side of things. “I guess it’s that everyone can choose who’ll represent their interests at the highest levels,” she said. “And after all, the most prosperous countries are all demoratic. That should count for something.”

“Yes,” said Li, “but I don’t see how being able to choose a mayor will make everyone richer.”

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair. “Well, now I know what I’ll ask for when the book request form comes along next. Maybe you could read up on it, too, and we’ll see what we can figure out.”

Donna pulled out the final bunch of lettuce and tossed it on top of an overflowing bucket. “That sounds like a plan,” she said. “I’ve read up on foreign history, but mostly on individual countries, not systems or ideologies.”

“I just read travel books,” Theodosius said with a laugh. “Did you know that in a part of the Middle East, the average July temperatures are over fifty degrees?”

“Wow,” said Li. “It’s hard enough to work when it’s in the high thirties. Can’t even imagine that.”

“And,” Theodosius continued, “did you know that North and South America used to be connected?”

Li looked at him irritably. “I did go to school, you know.”

Donna rushed to placate him. “We’ve heard bad things about District education.”

“Yeah, well, it was bad, but it wasn’t that bad. It was more that many never even got it.” Li picked up a bucket, and half the lettuce fell off the top. He put it down and gathered up the leafy plants in his arms, as well as the rest of the lettuce that precariously perched on top of buckets. Donna picked up the bucket, as well as another one instead. Poor Theodosius was holding three buckets, though they were very light, so it wasn’t that big of a hassle.

“So, it’s decided?” she said. “We’ll read up on democracy abroad, and hope the censors don’t think it’s too close to a forbidden topic.”

“Sounds good to me,” Li said. Theodosius concurred. They carried the lettuce towards the shed, where they placed the overflow Li was holding into two other buckets. An impressive-looking harvest on the surface, but lettuce took up a lot of space if you didn’t pack it tightly, and they hadn’t bothered. The buckets were left outside the shed for the guards to pick up and take to the kitchen after the prisoners were all back in their cells. Donna envied the guards. Today, they’d have salad with the freshest lettuce. She’d probably get rehydrated potatoes.

They washed off the dust, lettuce juice, and mud produced by combining the two. The water was very warm, but at least it was wet. “I think I’ll take my walk now,” Theodosius said. “Would you like to accompany us, Mr. Li?” he asked, shaking out his hands lightly, just enough to stop them from dripping everywhere. That would cool him down for a little bit longer. Donna did likewise, and also washed her face.

“No, but thank you for offering, Mr. Coll,” said Li as he took off his cap and dumped a handful of water over his head. “I’m going to go help Jade and Renko weed.” He walked off, water adding to the sweat stain on the back of his shirt. Donna and Theodosius began to walk down the path, Theodosius looking around himself as if he was actually in the middle of the Wilds and not in the yard.

“I actually really want to find out now why democracy’s supposed to be such a good thing,” he said. “I never really thought about it.”

Donna shrugged. “Far as I can tell, it’s not really that good of a thing. It’s just better than the alternatives.” That much, she had picked up from a few of the books she had read.

“Even then, that still sounds quite good,” Theodosius said. “Even better, if not good, has got to be, well, better.” He cringed at the clumsy wording.

“That’s true.” Donna paused, trying to find the right words. “Feels kind of strange, doesn’t it? Things are changing, and we’re not even there to witness them.”

Theodosius cringed even more, rubbing at his face. “I don’t even want to think about that,” he said, “but I suppose that’s one way to put it. Honestly, I think I realized that would happen even before it all ended, but I never wanted to think about it.” He sighed. 

They passed Xu, who was leaning against the wall with the hose over one shoulder and talking with Zelenka. The meadow did indeed look freshly watered. Donna said as much, and Xu nodded. “Thank you for picking the lettuce!” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Theodosius said. They kept on walking. “I think we got the better deal there,” he said.

“I think she’d say that too,” Donna pointed out.

Theodosius shrugged slightly. “Then we both win, I suppose.”


	23. Conversations

“So,” asked Li as they sat down on their benches, “how much reading have you two done recently?” He picked up his half-finished sweater and began to untangle the yarn. “I, for one, still don’t quite get it.”

“Get what?” Strata asked.

Theodosius tried to find the correct end of his blanket. “We’re doing some reading about democracy,” he explained as he struggled to untangle the large project. “If not the present, then hopefully the past will explain something.”

The prohibition on reading about certain topics was extremely grating. Practically everything written in the last seventy-five years was off-limits, as few books written in or about Panem didn’t mention the Games.

“Explain what?” asked Strata. “The current political situation?” Donna and Theodosius nodded.

“Huh,” said Katz. “You think it will still apply?”

“So far,” Donna said, “I’ve seen quite a few parallels.” She resumed work on her blanket, carefully making the stitches. She was using the waffle stitch, which was much trickier than just simply single or double crochet all the way through. It was more fun, though. “There’s always an outpouring of idealism when a repressive regime is toppled. People start thinking that anything is possible.”

Katz shrugged slightly, ignoring the barb about repressive regimes. “I’ve done some reading, too,” she said. “Democracy is _fragile_. Very fragile, especially at the beginning. Even once it’s established, people still rush to extremes when things go badly wrong. You can’t have political bickering in a crisis.”

“Yes,” said Theodosius, “but once the crisis passes, people want to kick out their leaders if they dealt with it poorly. Imagine if you had been able to get rid of your corrupt mayor and not have to deal with his thieving for decades.”

“But wouldn’t anyone become corrupt in power?” Li asked. “Far as I can tell, that’s exactly what happens. People pick their leaders, their leaders turn out to not be as good as promised, so they pick someone else next, and the cycle continues.”

Donna had noticed the same thing. In some places, the people constantly swung between extremes, and nothing got done in the long run. In others, nothing really changed even if the names did. “I guess it comes back to it being better than the alternative. If a mayor knew that corruption would get them voted out, they’d cut it back, try to hide it. The least corrupt countries are all democratic.”

“Doesn’t really seem like a choice, does it, though?” Katz said as her ball of yarn ran out. “If you’re just picking between bad and worse.”

“Better than being stuck with bad.” Donna could feel the debate shifting to a fight.

Strata butted in, eager to start the spat. “Well, it all depends on what you define as bad, right? I’ve read that when McCollum came to power, he got overwhelming support.”

Donna had also read about the last years before the First Rebellion, when he had come to power. His predecessors had all been democratically elected, but the last one had slowly gathered more and more power until she had refused to step down. When she finally died, McCollum, her deputy, had assumed power. The people hoped that he would be better, but instead, he tightened the screws further and further, creating the modern economic system as well as the modern surveillance state, albeit with the relatively limited technology of the time. “Yes,” she said, “but just a decade later, the nation rose in rebellion. Support can erode.”

There had been no true support for McCollum, not after the show trials and the introduction of the Hunger Games. He ruled for another forty-three years, starting out relatively soft on the Capitolians and allowing some dissent there, and ending with the first purges. When he died for reasons that were still debated, nobody dared hope Snow would be better.

Theodosius rushed to defuse the argument, not raising his eyes from the triple crochet stitch he was halfway through. “It’s a thought experiment,” he said. “Think about it in general terms.”

“Yes,” muttered Li. “I just wanted to talk about democracy.” His fingers flashed as he began to shape a sleeve. “What do you think motivates people to keep it up? I think it’s the promise of accountability and being able to choose.”

“That’s what I think, too,” Theodosius said. “It makes people feel like they can choose their own fate by picking a leader to represent their interests.”

Weiss leaned over towards them. “Will we be allowed to vote in the next elections?”

“Given that we weren’t allowed to vote in the last ones? I doubt it,” Theodosius said.

“But why?” Li asked. “Isn’t the point of elections that everyone votes?”

“I think they’re just messing with us,” Katz said.

Donna disagreed. “ _I_ think they have a good-sounding reason for it. Imagine what the press will say.”

Bunching the blanket in her lap to work on the corner, Katz dropped her yarn and re-positioned it around her hand. “But you always say the press doesn’t care about us,” she pointed out as she tried to get a firmer grip on the yarn.

“It doesn’t care in general,” Donna explained, “but if something happens, we’ll be front-page news again.”

Strata was unimpressed by that logic. “I don’t think we’ll be aware of it if it happens,” she pointed out. “It’s not like we have newspapers. Do you really think they care about what’s said about us?”

“We may not know,” Donna said, “but the administration will. If they sit tight and give the press no excuses, nobody will pause to think about us. But if someone manages to kick up a fuss, the federal government might get involved, and they don’t want that.” She spread out the short blanket on her lap, trying to warm up. It simply wasn’t fair. Why did the temperature almost always drop when it rained? It would have been so nice to stay inside and be nice and warm, but no. Staying inside meant cold. Donna flexed her hands, feeling the tips of her fingers touch her palms. They were freezing. She blew on her hands for warmth.

Noticing the gesture, Theodosius wondered out loud what the temperature was. “I wonder if it’s actually cold,” he said, “or just cold relative to how hot it was before.”

“The latter,” Katz said. “I doubt it’s below twenty degrees in here.”

“But my fingers feel cold!” Donna protested. “How can it be twenty degrees?”

Katz shrugged, not raising her eyes from her crochet. “Maybe your fingers numb easily,” she said. “Try crocheting more intensively.” 

Donna sighed and resumed work. “But that’s the thing, they don’t numb that easily!”

“Maybe you’re ill?” Katz suggested.

“I don’t feel sick,” Donna pointed out. “Just cold-fingered.”

“Maybe it’s a sign you’re falling ill,” Katz said. “I once served with someone who always got cold extremities just before he actually fell ill. Has that happened to you before?”

“What, getting sick?” Donna didn’t understand the question. “Of course.”

“I used to serve with someone who never got sick,” Li chimed in. “She never got as much as a cold, could eat rancid food without batting an eye. We’d always ask her if the IGR had edited her genome a bit.”

Strata lowered her hands onto her lap, leaning forward. “ _Rancid_ food?” she asked, sounding utterly shocked. “But - how? I remember I got sick once from eating sushi that still had several days to go before expiring!”

Li chuckled. “That was when you served in Five, right?” Strata nodded. “I guarantee you there was a transport issue, and it wasn’t refrigerated properly.”

“Oh.” Strata resumed crocheting. “That explains it. Shame, though, the sushi was delicious. Only time I ever tried it.” That said a lot about the life of a Peacekeeper. Even on location, it had been possible for Donna to get takeout.

“A reward, huh?” Katz asked. “I remember on my first tour, we were given alcohol after particularly difficult tasks. Not...sushi.” She nearly tripped over the unfamiliar word.

“You missed out. It was really good. I loved the spicy mayonnaise.”

“Wait, really?” Theodosius said. “I always hated it.”

“How can you hate spicy mayo?” Li asked. “It’s the best thing ever.”

“I just don’t like mayonnaise in general,” Theodosius shrugged. “Or spice.”

Li looked outraged at that. “How can you not like spice?”

“Gives me heartburn if I eat too much of it, and I err on the side of caution.” Theodosius tried to untangle the yarn from around the blanket, and failed. Instead, he simply pulled on it harder to get a longer tail her could work with, but the yarn was too tightly wound around the project. Donna reached over and helped him untangle it. “Thanks,” he said, re-adjusting the yarn.

Katz spoke up. “Could someone please explain to me what sushi is?” she asked.

Li rushed to enlighten her. “There’s a whole bunch of types, but the most common is sticky rice rolled into a roll with something inside. It can be filled with a whole bunch of things, vegetables and fish mostly. The really expensive kind is with raw fish.”

“ _Raw_ fish?” Katz asked incredulously. “No wonder you got sick,” she told Strata, who shrugged. “Five’s on the other side of the country from Four!.”

“Actually,” Theodosius said, “there’s some salmon fishing in Seven. Low-scale, they only really sent crab to the Capitol, but I’m willing to bet that’s where your sushi was made. It was mostly for the local market, for Seven’s upper class, but it would have been easy as anything for them to fulfill an order made in Five.”

“That’s still quite far, isn’t it?” As a Head Peacekeeper, Katz would only have been familiar with accurate maps of Nine’s surroundings, the rest of the country a complete blank to her. 

Theodosius shook his head, explaining the basic geography of Panem to her. Strata also looked fascinated at information Donna had learned in elementary school. She doubted that the trials of the former Peacekeepers would have brought up that Three was between Five and Seven, but it was always a shock to find out just how little the people from the Districts had known about Panem. And even now, Katz and Strata weren’t allowed to read books about geography, because there were “forbidden topics” mentioned!

“Huh,” said Katz. “Fascinating. I never went beyond the outer boundary, you know.”

“Not even as Head?” Donna asked. Katz shook her head. The ball of yarn toppled off her lap, and she bent down to pick it up.

“The closest I got was when we were chasing a person of the Wilds during my second tour,” she explained in a strained voice, searching for the yarn under the bench. “We were ordered to capture if possible, but they were better in the terrain than us.” Katz sat up, readjusting her cap. “We were deep in the boundary by that point, had to run at half-speed because otherwise, we couldn’t read the map fast enough to avoid stepping on a tracker jacker nest or something.They panicked when they saw that we were still there, forgot the path, and stepped on an explosive pod.” She shrugged weakly, resuming her crocheting.

The people of the Wilds who had lived between the Districts, small nomadic and semi-nomadic groups nearly all, had never been a nuisance for Donna. The only time she had seen them was when the occasional daredevil tried to trade with the on-location teams. A bigger issue had been the towns and villages up north. Huge swathes of land had been unusable for the Games because of their presence. Despite the fact that the relatively small populated areas could have been effortlessly wiped out by a single task force, neither McCollum nor Snow ever tried it. The Wilds were never patrolled beyond when railroad repair was done or around an Arena, and the people living there stayed in touch with each other and the outside world despite how difficult it was for them to get their hands on technology. They had an uneasy truce with the Capitol. If not left alone, they threatened to blow up the railroads and assault any teams sent out, no matter how heavy the reprisals. And the northeastern coast hadn’t been patrolled at all. They could have easily imported weapons instead of solar panels if they had wanted. Only the fear of losing what they did have prevented organized guerilla warfare.

“We had a run-in with the people of the Wilds on location once,” Donna said. “I wasn’t there myself at the time, though. Several youths blew up the bridge that was the only rail access. They got caught, though. Them and several workers who helped them.” She didn’t need to explain what their fate had been. It was a good thing she hadn’t been there at the time, as no doubt the prosecution would have pinned it on her somehow.

Katz looked up. “That was in 71, right? I remember that. We were ordered to be on high alert, Command told us to prepare for attacks. Nothing happened, of course. Found out months later it was just an isolated incident.”

“That it was,” Donna said. “On location, everyone started shooting on sight, but then someone accidentally shot a Capitol worker in the stomach, and then they stopped again.” 

“As always,” Theodosius grumbled. “Messed up transportation for a while, with all those security measures.” It had always happened in waves. There would be a raid or attack, security measures would be implemented, and then they would discontinued either because they made life too difficult or because someone from the Capitol or an important District person got caught in the crossfire. “Flick yelled at me for hours. As if the transport collapse was my fault.” Flick had been one of the directors of the Steelworks conglomerate and got executed for his many crimes, from slave labour to the seizure of plants from local businesspeople.

Chuckling slightly, Li undid a small section of a sleeve and began to re-do it. “He complained to Stonesmith about you, too.”

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair. “Well, that explains why I was ordered to walk for hours through a snowstorm after my train mysteriously had a malfunction,” he said caustically. “Bit incompetent for her, I’d say. The person who walked me there didn’t even try to lead me to the middle of the forest.”

Li shook his head. “She refused to take the hint, actually. You were in too much favour. That’s why I even found out about it - because it didn’t happen.”

“I suddenly feel better about having been so isolated from everything,” Strata said. “I don’t think takeout is worth having to constantly worry about your deputy poisoning you.”

Theodosius sighed. “I miss takeout so much. Seems an odd thing to miss, but I’m sick and tired of having the same three things to eat day after day.”

“Actually, I’m eating much better now than I ever had before my arrest,” Strata said. Katz nodded sympathetically.

“When I became Head, I immediately hired a local to cook for me. Peacekeeper rations were atrocious, and the previous Head had punished anyone who went down to the market to buy as much as a slice of bread,” she reminisced.

“I only saw the Head once in Five,” Strata said. “He turned up completely drunk to the town I was stationed in and started going on about saboteurs and wreckers. Then, he hopped into his car and rode off, firing his gun into the air. He got executed by the Rebellion.” The Head of Five had shared that fate with nearly all of Heads. 

Katz shook her head disapprovingly. “And then he wondered why the people were so undisciplined, I bet. You need to give out carrots as well as sticks. A cycle of reprisals just makes people feel like they have nothing to lose. If you take hostages and demand the impossible, they’ll blow you up with the hostages, because they’re dead anyway.”

What would the people of Nine think of this analysis of the situation? Katz had indeed been less cruel than the vast majority of Heads, as evidenced by the fact that Nine, alone, had judged her and sentenced her to life, but it still had been a terrible place to live.

“That’s true,” said Theodosius. “It’s something I always tried to explain to Snow. People need to see their hopes fulfilled from time to time, or they get fed up, and- well.” He gestured at the gym they were sitting in, at the handful of guards crocheting or reading.

Donna remembered the constant difficulties with the District workers. Theodosius’ predecessor had bragged that not even five percent came voluntarily, but that wasn’t something to brag about. Motivating the workers to put in effort had been virtually impossible, as news of harsh reprisals always leaked back to the Districts and resulted in even less enthusiastic workers. At the trial, Donna had been horrified to find out about the levels that the hostage-taking had sunk to. She had been aware that an entire family could find themselves with a black mark opposite their names for the actions of one on-location worker, but she had only sensed vaguely that the workers had been scared of more than unemployment.

For a while, their little group was silent. Donna could hear Holder talking to Salperin, Gold, and Netter. He was complaining about the food. The three former Peacekeepers sounded utterly exhausted, the typical reaction to having to listen to Holder. On the back benches, the former industrialists whispered to each other in voices too quiet for Donna to hear. Closer to her, Westfield and Groat were complaining about some former coworker of theirs who not only had been found not guilty, but had managed to get himself categorized as a minor offender. Westfield’s main issue was that he would get to keep his house and savings, while she would have neither one nor the other upon release, which was less than four years away. None of the Gamemaker assistants had gotten more than fifteen years.

Li held up the sleeve in front of him. “I’m tired of making sweaters,” he complained to Theodosius in a whisper.

“You should tell them that,” he said. “Maybe they’d let you make something else.”

“I already did. The administration wants sweaters.”

Donna was taken aback by that, and so was Theodosius. “But I thought they just wanted to keep us busy!” he said.

Li shrugged. “Well, they also want sweaters.” He inspected the cabling running down the sleeve. “By the way, you made a mistake a few rows back.” He pointed at the end of one of the rows. Donna realized that she had accidentally decreased it in length.

Now what? Undo the six rows and do it again? Or keep on going? It was just a tiny decrease, but the more Donna looked at it, the more obvious it seemed to her until it was clear that leaving the mistake in would result in the blanket looking horrible. Kicking herself for not noticing the mistake sooner, she began to frog the blanket, undoing her work.

“Did you make a mistake?” Theodosius asked. Donna pointed it out. “Doesn’t look so bad to me.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” she answered with a shrug. “Might as well make it perfect.” The yarn piled up in Donna’s lap, crinkly and taking up lots of room. Hopefully it wouldn’t end up tangled. She finished frogging the rows, inserted her hook into the loop, and made it bigger, so she wouldn’t accidentally undo more than she intended. Then, she re-wound the yarn into a ball. The grey material was soft against her fingers, but it also stripped the oil from them. When Donna rubbed her fingertips together, she felt the dryness.

Once the ball was done, she re-positioned the blanket in her lap and put the ball on top. Then, she resumed crocheting, making sure that the new row was being started correctly. It was irritating to lose so much work, but after all, she _did_ have all the time in the world.

* * *

“It’s barely drizzling,” Theodosius complained. “Why can’t we work outside?”

“I wish we could,” Donna said, stretching out her hand to feel if any drops were falling. The drizzle was more of a fine mist that left everything damp, and her sweater and warm shoes were adequate protection from it, as there was no wind to blow it in their faces. Gardening would have been nice, although muddy. “This is probably the best weather we’ve had in a week or so.”

“Bit chilly, though.” Theodosius’ hands were firmly shoved inside his pockets. “Digging up the potatoes would warm us right up,” he joked. It was still weeks before the potatoes would be fully mature, but they were already quite grown, and Theodosius was desperate to dig them up already and behold the hopefully bounteous harvest.

“You think sitting on the damp ground would warm us up?” Donna asked sceptically, trying to distract him from the potatoes. “I think walking is actually better for that.”

Theodosius looked around himself. “Well, then, let’s walk!” he said. “Might as well get out of here for a while.”

“Where are you?” Donna asked. “Still around Two?”

“Yes,” said Theodosius, staring off into nothing. “I’m in the mountains. They took down the fence and deactivated the pods. Now, there’s just signposts that say ‘You are now entering District Two’. The occasional border guard walks by, but since I’m not trying to go inside, they don’t stop me.” Donna wasn’t sure if he was pretending for his own benefit or for hers. She imagined the mountain paths, the signposts, the occasional pothole where a pod had been.

“Must have been difficult, to remove all those pods in hard-to-reach places,” she said. “Remember what Wreath said? The harder it is for a person to reach somewhere, the more pods were placed.” Wreath had been a Peacekeeper in the Coast Guard division, as well as a lawyer. He had been helping the Rebellion forces clear ocean pods when he was called to the Capitol to defend Best, and then proceeded to turn up to the first court session in dress uniform, horrifying nearly everyone and impressing the defendants. Due to his previous experiences, he knew exactly whom to call as a witness, and when. Best and Verdant had a lot to thank him for.

“That’s true.” Theodosius was staring into space. “I’ll have to try and figure out if there’s going to be patrols in such unreachable places.”

“Pity you can’t ask Wreath,” Donna said. “Or anyone, really.” They were only allowed to send letters to family and their own lawyer, and letters to the latter had to be strictly on topic.

Theodosius nodded. “I don’t like the thought of being inaccurate. I want my trip to be as close to reality as possible. Otherwise, it’s not really a trip around the world, is it?”

The drizzle seemed to be fading, but it was still overcast. “True. Maybe once you’re in South America, they’ll let you take out books about it. How are you even going to get there?”

“I heard there’s a ferry working now,” Theodosius said, trying to hide his face from the breeze that picked up suddenly. “Ugh, it’s freezing. Anyway, I thought I could just hop on. It’ll be harder to go to Africa from there, though. Maybe I’ll get a fake ID and catch a hovercraft.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Donna said cheerfully. “I bet-” she cut off as she saw Li. The man was walking on his hands. “What is he _doing_?”

“Walking on his hands?”

“I noticed that,” Donna said in an exasperated tone. “But why?” 

“No idea.” Li stopped suddenly. As Donna watched, open-mouthed, he removed one hand from the ground. “Maybe he should have joined the circus instead of the Death Squad,” Theodosius said incredulously. “How is he not falling over?”

Li proceeded to bend his elbow until the top of his head touched the ground. He then straightened back up and switched hands.

“I don’t think the Death Squad taught its recruits this kind of stuff,” Donna pointed out. The two of them stopped to watch Li. On two hands now, he slowly lowered himself into a plank position, but with feet off the ground. Then, he straightened back up into a handstand. “Maybe I should start working out in my cell,” she said as they resumed walking.

Theodosius was running his hand through his hair, cap pushed to the back of his head. “Every time I think he’s reached the limit, he comes up with something else. He’ll start running on walls next.”

Donna chuckled. “I don’t think even he can defy gravity.”

“It’s not quite that,” Theodosius said. “If you run really fast, you can take a few steps against a wall. You can even use it to jump higher. Li would probably set records.”

“You should ask him to try, then,” she said, stepping around a particularly slippery patch of mud. The ground was damp, and Donna stepped as lightly as possible to avoid getting too much mud on her shoes. 

They were just a few metres from Li now, who was using the meadow as a workout space. He and a few other former Peacekeepers had asked the administration for permission to spar, but their request was refused. They were stuck with katas and whatever Li’s workout routine was. By now, he was doing his more familiar two-finger pushups. Maybe in a few months, he’d be doing two-finger handstands.

When she suggested that to Theodosius, he agreed. “One-finger handstands, at this rate. All I’m doing is roaming around, and he’s pushing the limits of the possible.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Honestly, it’s a shame nobody will ever find out about this. Li’s skill demands respect.”

“I’m sure some guard or other will take a video at some point,” Donna pointed out. A few times, she had noticed the guards in the towers holding phones or cameras. 

Theodosius shook his head as they walked away from Li and his gymnastics. “You think any of them will actually be leaked to the public?”

“Eventually, maybe.” Donna was certain that any leak would cause a scandal that would immediately be described to them. So far, nothing like that had happened.

“I suppose we’ll wait, then.” Theodosius smiled sadly.


	24. Ambitions

A large part of Donna didn’t want to see her son. She didn’t want to find out just how far apart they had grown in their nearly three years away from each other. Dem had sent in a new photo, and Lars was practically unrecognizable, but then again, he was twelve now. Old enough to come by for a visit, like his sister. Soon enough, all of her kids would be waiting for a chance to visit her. The prospect frightened her. Would they even recognize her, or she - them?

Hesitantly, she walked inside the room. On the other side of the glass, Lars waved at her awkwardly.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Donna replied. “You’ve gotten so tall!”

Lars rolled his eyes. “You can’t even see how tall I am! I’m sitting down!”

When had he become so sarcastic? “I can see that you’re taller sitting down than you were before,” Donna pointed out. “Or maybe you think I’ve just gotten that much shorter?” she added with a smile.

Lars shrugged, looking like he was trying to collapse in on himself. Donna sighed inaudibly. “How are you?” she asked.

Another shrug. Lars looked around the room, staring at the guards with a slightly confused facial expression. One of the guards, a woman from Four, waved at him slightly.

“Are you still not talking to Primus?”

“I haven’t seen him in a month,” Lars said, and refused to elaborate. Donna tried to not show her frustration. Her and Theodosius’ eldest sons were acting more like two roommates who hated each other than anything else.

“How’s school?” He had just started grade seven in the previous month.

“Pretty good,” Lars said, coming out of his shell a little bit. “My Geography teacher is a returned defector, and he always talks about being to all these different countries and how they do things there.”

“That sounds very interesting. You know, we get foreign visitors here sometimes.” Donna glanced at the guards, but that didn’t appear to be a state secret. 

Lars nodded. “I know. I’ve read it in the newspapers.”

Was he seriously still reading the newspapers? He must have been reading them outside the house sneakily. “And what do they say?” she asked, before mentally kicking herself as the guards shouted at her to change the topic. Lars startled at the noise, nearly falling off his chair. 

“Um,” Donna tried to think of what else to say, “what are your other subjects like?”

“They’re alright. I hope I can get straight A’s this year.” The previous year, he had always gotten one or two B’s. “I got an A+ on my math test.”

“That’s amazing!” Donna said, trying to cheer up Lars, who still looked glum. “What was it on?”

“Fractions. And I have a Lit essay I need to write,” he groaned.

Donna smiled. “You don’t like Lit?” Lars shook his head.

“But you love reading!”

“I love reading, but I hate Lit,” Lars said sulkily. “There are never any right answers,” he complained, throwing his hands in the air. “No matter what I say, the teacher always finds something wrong with it!”

“I also used to not like it,” Donna said. “It’s much easier when you’re either correct or not correct, right?” Lars nodded. “Thing is, that’s not how people work. You can have two opposite opinions that are both neither right nor wrong. And even if a position is very weak, or even downright wrong, it can still be successfully argued.”

“I still don’t like it,” Lars said glumly. “I get that things are complicated, but-” he shrugged. “It’s hard. Math is so easy by comparison. Just practice enough, and you can always get the right answer.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re practicing a lot,” Donna tried to reassure her son. “It looks like you’re doing very well.”

Lars was silent.

“Is everything alright?” she asked anxiously. Lars shrugged.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright,” he said. “I’m just worried it will get harder later on.”

At that, Donna nearly laughed. “Of course it will get harder, but you will get smarter!” she said. “You know, during my entire time in university, I’d think that I was at the end of my tether and if things got only a little bit worse, that would be the end of me. But things got worse, and I kept on going.”

Lars looked like he didn’t quite believe it. “Grandma and Grandpa are always going on about how it won’t be this easy later.”

“Grandma and Grandpa are stuck in the old mentality,” Donna said, mentally cursing her parents for putting so much pressure on her kids. “When I was your age, it was nearly impossible to go to university out of public school, your marks had to be borderline perfect. Anyone with money or connections could easily get into state school, but our family wasn’t quite at that level, and I had to do well on the entrance exam to get in. Your uncle Alex failed both times he tried, so there was a lot of pressure on me.” That period of her life had been simultaneously horribly stressful and extremely easy. She had never found it difficult to do well, but the irrational fear of failure always haunted her.

Lars listened wide-eyed. “Grandma and Grandpa are arguing with Dad over whether I should apply to state school.” There were two intake years - grade seven and grade nine. Dem hadn’t wanted to drag him through the complicated process the past year.

“Well, what do you want?” Donna asked.

It was clear that Lars had never thought about that. He fidgeted awkwardly, looking at the guards, as if for reassurement. They stared blankly back, clearly not interested in the details of her family life. “Um, I don’t know?” he said. “I never really thought about it.” Donna tried not to laugh. It was as if the glass partition was in fact a mirror to the past.

“I never really thought about it, either,” Donna reminisced. “You know what kind of attitudes your Grandma and Grandpa had, right?” She was worried Lars wouldn’t get the hint, but he nodded. “Well, they wanted your uncle Alex and I to be like your Grandpa and Great-Grandma, and become engineers. They always talked about how I needed the sort of job that would always be needed.” She sighed, not meeting her son’s eyes. “And I suppose people do tend to follow their parents’ footsteps. I wanted to impress them, make up for Alex’s failures. Plus, I liked the idea of an apolitical sort of job.”

Lars looked at her strangely. 

It was hard to explain what had motivated her back then. How could she simultaneously have wanted an apolitical sort of job that would always be needed no matter what and still applied to work on the Games? “I was always apolitical, or at least I thought I was,” she said with a shrug. “I know it’s hard to believe, but in my mind, I was just building bridges and roads.”

The guards looked ready to strike down that line of conversation.

“Apolitical?” Lars asked.

Donna chuckled bitterly. “There’s no such thing as apolitical. Doesn’t matter if you’re an activist or a doctor. Living in society makes you political by default. You may think you don’t care who wins the elections, but some of the candidates will be worse for you than others. Politics cares about you even if you don’t care about it.” She had read that in a book just a few weeks ago. If only she had read that years before.

The guards decided they had nothing against the elections being discussed and settled back, looking bored again. They were waiting for juicy gossip to sell to journalists.

“What do you think of Paylor?” 

Donna thought a lot of things about Paylor, chief of them being the unpleasant suspicion that she owed the former factory worker and Rebel cell leader her life. While Coin had prepared her show trial of Snow and the Gamemakers, Paylor had ended up in charge of organizing the trials of everyone else until she got elected president and passed it off to her old deputy, and her deputy ended up taking over the Gamemakers as well in the end. From the earliest speeches she had made as one Rebel leader out of many in Eight to personally guaranteeing a fair trial for everyone to the promises she made during the extremely short election campaign, Paylor had always given the impression of someone interested in only justice, not vengeance.

The restitution debates were another thing that made Donna feel very, very small and insignificant. Paylor had made a speech where she promised restitution for every innocent victim of the Games regime, and said that the only restitution she herself needed was the chance to build a better nation in place of the old one. Many of the Capitol Rebels and defectors had loudly agreed with the last part.

“I don’t know how much I can say,” Donna began, glancing at the guards. 

“But why?” Lars asked, confused. “They told me not to talk about certain topics, but why? Or is that also a forbidden topic?”

Why?

_Because I was a total fucking idiot who didn’t use her brain, and now I’m stuck here until you’re thirty-four and everyone is scared of the prospect of me influencing you in any way, shape, or form._

Donna rubbed at her face with a hand. “Maybe ask them on the way out. I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about that. Let’s talk about something cheerier, this is the first time I’ve seen you in so long! How are your siblings?”

“Tall,” Lars said with a comical facial expression that quickly faded. “Um, they’re alright. Donna’s passing all her classes. Nothing really new since the last letter.” It seemed sometimes that being able to write to her family again hadn’t led to an increase in communication. 

“Well, what happened during the last week?” Donna asked desperately. “I’m sure there’s something I’d find interesting.”

Lars cocked his head to one side. “What’s ‘interesting’?”

“Literally anything,” Donna said. “Did your Grandma and Grandpa say something strange? What are you learning in class? What did your Dad cook for dinner yesterday? How is Cynthia doing?”

“Mrs. Coll is alright,” Lars said. Donna sighed inwardly at the formality. She had thought that they would become family friends, but Lars was still playing the reluctant roommate. “Um, so is everyone else? We had curry yesterday. It was way too spicy for Mrs. Coll, but she ate it anyway and even got seconds, even though she got really bad heartburn afterwards. Is Mr. Coll also that bad with spice?”

It took a few seconds to come up with an answer. “I have no idea,” Donna said. “I think you should ask Cynthia.” To give a definite answer would indicate that they interacted regularly, which flew in the face of the fact that the silence rule was technically still in force. However, if she said so, it could potentially end up in the press. According to the sympathetic guard, a large segment of the population believed that they were forced to observe strict silence - and approved. There was, however, a small but loud minority standing up for Donna and the rest of them. The last thing she, or the administration, needed were angry protesters at the compound fence clashing with counter-protesters complaining about “laxness” and “being soft on the Games criminals”.

For the rest of the visit, Donna managed to get Lars to talk about how the family was doing. Was he always so taciturn or was it just because he was talking to her? Donna tried to convince herself that a lot of children felt awkward opening up to their parents at that age, but it was futile. Maybe that played a role, but Donna knew full well that she was by now a near-stranger to her own son.

When it was time to leave, Lars stayed sitting, hands pressed against the wall. “When will I see you again?” he asked, sounding much younger than he actually was.

“Time’s up!” said a guard. The four of them stood up slowly.

Donna got up as well. “Ask your Dad,” she said. “He’s the one managing the rota.” Lars nodded. “You have a good year, or whatever. Alright? Listen to your Dad, he’s got enough things to worry about.” Flanked by two guards, she turned around to leave. When Donna looked back, her son was staring at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Lars noticed her staring, and waved.

“Move along, Female Nine!” snapped one of the guards. “You’ll make the next one ate.” On the way out, they passed by Aslanov, who was waiting to see his brother. He was one of the few former Peacekeepers who were still in touch with their families. Donna nodded slightly at him, and he responded in kind. The guards led her to the entrance to the yard and left. Donna went to join Theodosius, who was pulling up beets.

“How did that go?” he asked, brushing the dirt off a particularly small beet.

“Alright,” Donna said. “Is that a beet or a radish?” She pointed at the tiny root. Theodosius rolled his eyes. He placed it into a bucket and shuffled over to another one. Donna squatted down next to him, pushing back her sleeves. 

“Aslanov’s in there now, right?” When Donna assented, he clarified, “I noticed him trying to rub dirt on his knees to make the numbers less visible.”

“It clearly didn’t work,” Donna said. She pulled a beet out of the ground. It was slightly more respectably sized, though still quite small. “Seriously, what’s up with the beets? They’re tiny.” The potatoes had been so much bigger than last year, Donna had dared hope the same would hold for the rest of them. While the zucchinis had also grown to utterly insane proportions, over half a metre long, the beets had clearly not benefitted.

Yanking out another beet, Theodosius managed to only tear off the tops. “And how is Lars?” he asked as he dug his hands into the ground, trying to grab the root.

“Not too bad. Talked a lot about school.”

“Any new information?” Theodosius asked eagerly.

“My parents are already pressuring him about getting a job.”

Theodosius chuckled at that. “Sounds like your parents.” He pulled out another radish-sized beet. “I am very concerned,” he said, staring at it.

Someone was laughing next to them. Donna looked up and met Heatherson’s eyes. “What?” Heatherson asked defensively. “Those are some tiny beets.”

“It’s not my fault,” Theodosius said. “I wasn’t the one planting them.”

Heatherson looked at him like he wasn’t entirely sane. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” she said, frowning. “I just pointed out that the beets are very small.”

“It sounded like an accusation,” Donna chimed in, brushing dirt off a beet. It was, once again, absurdly small.

Heatherson sighed. “Maybe you shouldn’t look for accusations everywhere.” 

“We need another bucket,” Donna said as she placed another beet into the one next to her. “This one’s full.” She stood up, stretching. Theodosius stood up as well, even though the bucket next to him still had some room.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

Not getting the hint, Heatherson offered to walk with them as well. “What do you think about the news?” she asked.

“What news?” Theodosius asked with some irritation. “The speech the mayor of Two made last week, the report by that international organization whose name I forget, the updates on the Depuration, or how well my children are doing in school?”

“Anything,” Heatherson said. “We haven’t talked for a while.” Neither of them interacted much with the former industrialists.

They walked down the path, cringing at the cold gusts of wind. “My children are doing well, thank you for asking,” Donna said. “How are yours?” Heatherson had four children, all long grown.

“My eldest just got married. To a person from Eleven.” She sounded more confused than anything by that.

“Well, congratulations,” Theodosius said. “How old are they?”

“They’re thirty-two.”

Donna chuckled. “Well, that’s a good deal older than mine. My eldest is fifteen.”

“For now,” Heatherson said, shaking her head sadly. “One moment they’re your little one, the next they’re getting married. When I see them next, there will probably be a toddler running around the apartment.” Heatherson had less than six years left in here. 

“I’m sure you must be looking forward to the photos already,” Theodosius said. “My wife sends me photos from time to time, and I can’t believe how fast they’re all growing.”

“How old are they?” Heatherson asked. Theodosius paused, scratching his head. Donna tried to remember how old her own kids were. It took a few seconds.

Finally remembering the ages, Theodosius rattled them off. “Twelve, nine, nine, seven, three, three. The youngest two have their birthday in a few weeks, though.”

Heatherson looked very sad for an instant, before her face assumed its normal slight boredom. “Two sets of twins? That’s interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” Theodosius said abashedly. “When the youngest were born, I practically fled to my office every morning. It was chaos. And now, I wish more than anything else that I could be surrounded by that chaos now.”

Donna felt that way, too. How often had she wished that her children would grow up already and stop being so hard to manage? Well, now she was getting her wish. 

“You young people are much worse off,” Heatherson said. “Longest finite sentences for the second-youngest people - they’ll throw you into an unfamiliar world just like that!”

“Forgive me for saying so, but six years is still quite a long time, especially in the light of the constant developments going on right now,” Donna pointed out.

Heatherson slumped slightly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said. “I’ll leave, and be retirement age, but I’m not eligible for my pension! I’ll have to live off my husband’s, probably.”

Donna wanted to reassure the older woman that there was still plenty of time to figure things out and have circumstances change, but six years were quite a short time to someone like Heatherson. It was only when Donna considered how old her children would be then that she realized just how long a time it actually was. 

“Maybe it’ll be reinstated,” Theodosius said. “You’re always saying that they’ll stop being so harsh on us as soon as it becomes politically expedient. I bet that pensions and savings accounts will be the first if that happens.”

They reached the shed, and Donna took two empty buckets, passing one to Theodosius. Heatherson shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, looking glum. “ _If_ it happens,” she echoed them. “The more I hear the news, the more I worry that you’re correct and they will never slacken their grip.”

The prospect of being right was not enjoyable. “I hope I’m wrong,” Donna said. “We thought the IDC would just kept on going and going no matter what, and now it’s gone. The administration here’s just thirteen people who can’t get along. Now, it all depends on what the Districts think.”

Heatherson tossed her head. “In that case, I almost pity the guards who will have to stay here for decades.”

Donna’s perspective on the Districts wasn’t quite so cynical, though. It was the people of the outer Districts who had been the kindest when she was in jail, and even now, the sympathetic guards who carried messages for her were from Eight and Twelve. 

She decided to ask Dem to bake something for them as a token of her gratitude. Anything to lessen the chances of them leaving.

They walked in silence until they returned to the beets. Heatherson squatted down next to them. Since there was no polite way to tell her to go away, Donna didn’t react. She carefully pulled out a beet and brushed off the wet dirt. The dirt from before had dried slightly as they had walked, and the combination of wet and less wet dirt felt strange on her skin. Donna rubbed her hands together to try to clean them off, but it just smeared the dirt all over her palms. 

Looking up, she saw Theodosius juggling two beets. “Nice,” she said appreciatively. “I didn’t know you could juggle.”

“It’s easy with just two,” he replied, continuing to juggle. “I can’t do three.” One of the beets fell to the ground. Theodosius picked it up and placed it into the bucket.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Heatherson said. She reached into the bucket and took out two beets, holding one in each hand. Tossing one into the air, she tried to switch the other one to her now-empty hand, but she couldn’t do it fast enough, and the first beet fell to the ground before she could grab it. She sighed. 

Donna picked up the fallen beet and placed it into one of the empty buckets. Over half of the patch was already harvested, and there wasn’t much left after the beets. She didn’t want harvest to end. An end to outdoor work meant the beginning of endless days of crochet. Donna stared at her dirty hand, covered with wet dirt. It was quite cool now, especially in the mornings. Soon, it would be cold. A barely perceptible breeze chilled her damp hand, as if it was caught in a vise. She shoved her fingers into the ground, grabbing hold of yet another beet. It came away encased in a clump of dirt bigger than the beet itself.

“Now that’s a decently sized beet,” Theodosius pointed out.

When the dirt was brushed off, the root looked small and pitiful. “I should have expected that,” Theodosius said. “These beets are a fiasco. I’ll have to read up on how to fertilize them properly.”

“You want to take over the planting as well?” Heatherson asked acidly. “Why are you so worried about the yield?”

“Because I don’t like the idea of not doing my job as well as I could,” Donna said, surprised to realize that she sincerely meant those words.

“But this is _not_ your job! It doesn’t matter how small or large the potatoes you grew are. It wouldn’t change anything if the beet was the size of a pea or a watermelon instead.” Donna had a suspicion that if they tried to grow watermelons, they’d be just about the size of a normal beet.

Theodosius didn’t answer, instead digging his fingers into the ground for another beet, which was, once again, the size of a particularly large radish.

* * *

At the taps, Donna listened to former industrialists complaining as she lifted the tap with a wrist.

“I got in touch with the new management,” said Dimmers. “They said they wouldn’t hire me for as much as an intern position!” The former manager of the Capitol section of the Electrical Works sounded infuriated by this turn of events. “I don’t understand this - it doesn’t say anywhere in my sentence that I’m to be banned from working!”

Andrews and Torres, formerly plant leaders in Five, vigorously agreed as they tried not to lean against several buckets of apples that had just been picked by several of the former Peacekeepers.

“I noticed the same thing,” said Torres, the shorter and darker one of the two. He gave up on trying to lean against the wall and stood up straight. “They didn’t even give a decent excuse! Just ‘it would not be beneficial for the company to employ you right now’. How does that even make any sense? They’re not releasing us right now!” The two former plant leaders were both serving eighteen-year sentences, and both refused to believe they’d have to serve it all.

Andrews nodded to every word Torres said. 

“Well, I suppose it could be worse,” Dimmers said as he began to wash his hands at the tap next to Donna’s. “Look at the Steelworks people. Now that it’s broken up, they’ve got no chances.”

Torres disagreed. “The Depuration hearings are still going on,” he said. “And I don’t think they’ll fall apart in the next few months.” The Capitol-run trials had recently acquired that name.

“Next few months?” Donna chimed in. “Try ‘next few years’. They haven’t been showing any signs of slowing down.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Torres muttered irritably. Most of the former industrialists resented being imprisoned with Donna and the rest of the key criminals, thinking that they themselves did not deserve to be stuck with whom they perceived to be the real criminals of the regime. Donna turned back to scrubbing her hands under the cold water, trying to get the dirt out from under her fingernails. They were growing out again. She’d need to ask the orderly for a pair of scissors.

As she finished washing her hands, the three men next to her resumed their complaining. Dimmers was getting on the nerves of the other two, that much was obvious. Andrews and Torres clearly weren’t as certain about their upcoming release as they said. They were both standing away from the wall, leaning slightly backward. Dimmers was either oblivious or didn’t care, as he kept on talking to Torres. When they were called back inside, they continued their conversation. 

Donna wished Theodosius a good evening and headed toward the entrance to the women’s wing. One of the guards was advising the other on her job application. It was sounding like the woman from Eleven had much better job prospects than the three former industrialists put together. She sounded almost upbeat as she told the guard from One that she would definitely listen to the suggestions, but fell silent when she realized that the prisoners were hanging onto her every word.

Back in her cell, there was a bit of time to clean up before dinner. Donna put on her thin shoes in place of the ones she had worn outside, as their soles were covered with dirt and she didn’t want to track mud all over her cell. It was bad enough that cleaning the corridor tomorrow would be a hassle. She took off her sweater, hung it up, and washed her hands again, this time with soap. It was chilly in the cell, so Donna put her sweater back on. She sat down on her cot and waited for dinner.

When the doors unlocked, she stepped out and joined the queue. To Donna’s surprise, the sympathetic guard was there. When she met her eyes, the woman from Eight twisted her face in a barely perceptible grimace Donna had no idea how to interpret. Was it supposed to be a warning? Hidden in Donna’s bra was a piece of paper with diary entries for the past few days. They were short ones, though, she could probably memorize and re-write them later. Better be safe than sorry, after all. Donna had no idea how the administration would react if they caught someone passing notes, but she was certain nobody would enjoy the consequences except the press.

Donna didn’t even look at the guard as she took her tray and went back to her cell, chatting with a few of the others. It was too risky. She listened to Smith hum something until Kim snapped at her to be quiet. Smith took offense to that, and began to actually sing out loud, albeit quietly. Kim went inside her cell and slammed the door behind her. The rest of them, however, hung around the doorways until they were ordered inside. 

The first thing Donna did once the door was slammed behind her was to take out the note, read it several times, and flush it down the toilet. Only then did she begin to eat the rice with vegetables, piece of flat bread, tiny piece of dried meat, and apple. There was no tea today, so Donna had to go to the sink and fill up her cup with the cold water. After handing back the tray Donna sat down on her cot, opened a book, and began to wait for the search.

Such an odd time for it. They normally preferred to conduct the searches while they were washing. Had something happened? Was this just an attempt to mess with them? Donna turned the pages, feeling more and more anxious as she waited for the door to slam open.

She waited and waited, and the search failed to materialize. She read a section of the history book and the novel completely undisturbed. The same went for the book of puzzles. Donna listened for the slightest sound as she got ready for bed. The prospect of having guards barge in while she was on the toilet was an unpleasant one, but fortunately, that didn’t happen. The lights flicked off, and still there was nothing but the occasional bootsteps in the corridor, same as always.

* * *

The lights went on, and Donna woke up. A voice was shouting at her in a tone both demanding and extremely bored to undress and stand with her face against the corner. The next thing Donna was aware of, she was facing the wall and shivering in the cold air as two guards went through everything. Good thing the sympathetic guard had warned her, as there would have been no easy way to dispose of the note, other than eating it or something, and the guards would have noticed that. With how enthusiastically they were going through everything, even leafing through book pages, Donna was seized with the irrational fear that they would find something even though there was nothing to find. One noticed her looking, and snapped at Donna to face the wall. She complied.

Finding nothing, the two nodded to each other and left the cell, shutting the door behind them. Still in a slight state of shock, Donna slowly went about getting dressed and cleaning up, until she realized that the lights would go off at any moment. She sped up her cleaning pace until she was frantically dumping clothes in their rightful place, listening to the sound of doors slamming and boots hitting the ground. It didn’t sound like they had found something. Were they going through every single cell, or just some? The noises were growing slightly fainter, so perhaps they were going through them in order. That meant plenty of time. Donna placed her thin shoes neatly under the cot, her bra and cap - onto the chair, and climbed into bed, eager to get warm. The sounds of the search were still there.

For a while, the lights didn’t go off as the last prisoners were searched. It was impossible to sleep with the bright light on. How had she managed it before? Donna turned over, face against the mattress. Now, it was hard to breathe. She rolled onto her side, hand on her face to hide her eyes from the stabbing light. Suddenly, the light switched off, plunging her into darkness. Sighing with relief, Donna curled up comfortably and tried to sleep.


	25. Snow

When the warden demanded volunteers for shoveling the path, Donna cursed mentally but still raised her hand, along with four of the former Peacekeepers, who rotated regularly. Shoveling was exhausting work, but at least it meant fresh air and being able to talk to Theodosius without half the prison population hearing every word. 

She was led outside, together with Song, Strata, Jade, and Weiss, as the other women were led to their crocheting. Lifting her feet high to be able to get through the thick blanket of snow, Donna walked up to the ten shovels that waited for them.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Theodosius asked, approaching her.

It was in fact a nice morning, not windy at all and slightly overcast. It barely even felt cold, but since the snow was showing no signs of melting, it must have been a few degrees below zero. “I suppose,” she said, taking a shovel. “At least we’ll get to stay out here for a while.” The shovelers would be allowed to stay outside until the path was fully cleared. If they weren’t done by early afternoon, then the rest wouldn’t be allowed outside at all, and they would spend the next few weeks being annoyed at her.

Since they had reached the shovels first, they began working from there. Strata and Jade started in the same place, but going in the opposite direction. Donna took a bit of snow from the top, and tossed it aside. No need to overexert herself. The next shovelful took the rest of the snow from that little area. A little bit still remained, but it wouldn’t pose a problem. Theodosius picked up too much and strained to move it aside. He paused, rubbing at his lower back.

“Are you alright?” Donna asked anxiously. If he threw out his back, that would be the end of shoveling, possibly forever. 

Theodosius braced his shovel against the ground and stretched his back. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He picked up a smaller shovelful and tossed it to the side.

Reassured, Donna also resumed shoveling. “Please be careful. You don’t want to end up like Best,” she said, pointing at the older man who was arguing with a guard. While he was in good health, he just wasn’t quite capable of shoveling snow for hours on end with a shovel that couldn’t be called ergonomical by any definition of the word. The former Peacekeeper was upbraiding the guard as if he still had his high rank, and the guard was a subordinate.

“I don’t understand,” Best said coldly, “do you want me to shovel or not? Make up your mind already!”

Donna and Theodosius stopped shoveling as the guard, a young man from Two, snapped to attention and did not move for a second. “You think too highly of yourself, Male Sixteen!” he suddenly shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Best and leaning forward slightly. “You forget that you are nothing but an inmate and a convicted murderer, and you do not command me anymore!” Best froze, as did Donna and Theodosius and everyone else in the yard. “Now, are you capable of shoveling the path or not?”

Best must have answered in the affirmative, as he walked off to join Verdant, who was refusing to admit that his leg could stop him from doing anything. He looked downtrodden, very much not the person who could command anyone. It was painful to see for Donna, even though she didn’t particularly like Best. Watching a young man upbraid someone old enough to be their grandfather like that was very unpleasant.

Theodosius’ thoughts must have been somewhere else, though, as he commented, “Like two peas in a pod, those two. You think they’re discussing corruption in the Coast Guard again?” They could never let go of the topic, constantly blaming each other for defections Donna had never even heard of.

“What else?” she tried to say lightly, but her heart wasn’t really in it. “You know, maybe they’re planning on writing a book about it. ‘Corruption in the Coast Guard: From the Early Days to the Second Rebellion’. It would be a bestseller, I bet.”

Theodosius laughed out loud as he dug his shovel into the snow. “I’d read it. Still, how would that work? Would they smuggle it out page by page?” 

“I think the administration would have something to say about that,” she conceded. Sneaking out letters were one thing, an entire book - quite another. Donna looked up and realized that Best and Verdant had already cleared more than the two of them. “Wait, how have they already overtaken us?”

“Wait, already?” Theodosius asked incredulously. The two of them were consistently much slower than the former Peacekeepers, but this was a new record. “We should pick up the pace, then, or they’ll blame it on us when it’s not cleared in time.” He began to move slightly faster.

Donna’s mind was still on the guard from Two. “Sounds like the guard was a Peacekeeper once,” she said. “He must have switched sides early.” Early enough to have participated in the fighting for Two, at least. Any later, and he wouldn’t have been trusted for this job.

“That’s true,” said Theodosius as he paused to pull down his cap lower. It still didn’t come close to covering his ears, which were already bright-red. “Can’t believe he’d even want to be here.”

“I wonder if he’s even allowed to shout like that,” Donna wondered. “Technically speaking, he wasn’t _wrong_ , but that’s just-” she cut off, unable to find the words to describe it. Maybe it was just the age difference that was so disconcerting. She gestured weakly, trying to express herself.

“No, no, I get it,” Theodosius said. “I don’t like to be reminded of it, either. But that’s what we are, aren’t we?” He grinned weakly, stabbing his shovel into the snow. “Just a bunch of inmates. Murderers strolling in a prison yard.” He gestured at the two of them, then shrugged. “Most prisons don’t let men and women work literally twenty centimetres from each other, but that’s just a minor detail, I suppose.”

Donna chuckled at the last part, even though there really wasn’t anything to laugh at. She had also had similar thoughts in the past. “That we are,” she said. “That we are.” Throwing another shovelful of snow to the side, she added, “And in this, as in all, a thank-you to our dear President Snow.”

Theodosius nearly dropped his shovel. “I don’t think this is what our teachers meant when they taught us to recite that. Although,” he said thoughtfully, “it is still more correct than ninety percent of what they taught us.”

“Ninety?” Donna said bitterly. “Try ninety-five. We’re only here because they taught us that up is down.” What she actually meant to say was ‘wrong is right’, but the words stuck in her mouth. Instead, she dug her shovel into the snow. Her toes felt numb. “And what was taught to the Districts- you remember that textbook from Twelve, right?”

Each District had had different textbooks, tailored to fit the ideology imposed on the specific District. Where the people of the upper and lower classes looked different, illustrations would reflect that societal hierarchy, as if it was the natural order of things. Where they didn’t, all of the people pictured would look the same, as if that was the norm across Panem. At their trial, a textbook from Twelve had been shown. No photos or illustrations of people from other Districts were in it, but people with light hair and skin and blue eyes were shown to have better jobs than people with dark hair, olive skin, and grey eyes. 

Children would only ever see pictures of people who looked like themselves or their classmates, except during the Games. This meant that people who looked different were considered to be some sort of “other”. Even now, after years of working together, there were still issues, because people associated certain appearances only with those of the children who had to die if their own were to come home.

“How could I forget?” Theodosius said bitterly. “Remember how our end of the dock reacted? We were all so confused, until the prosecutor explained it. Then it was suddenly the most sinister thing we’d seen that day.” That was how it had gone. The more seemingly innocuous something was, the more unpleasant for one or several of the defendants it was when its deeper meaning was explained. “Snow really had a lot to answer for, doesn’t he?” Theodosius asked his shovel. “No screw was too tight for him to be unable to tighten it further.”

“That’s a good way to phrase it.” Donna would need to remember that for her diary entry, as well as her thoughts about the old educational system. At least that way, her odd reminisces would serve some use.

Theodosius chuckled. “I spent days coming up with the phrase,” he admitted.

* * *

On the way back, the guard from Thirteen intercepted Holder. The others all slowed down to listen to the middle-aged woman. “You didn’t eat this morning, did you?” she asked without a shred of concern. Holder nodded, staring at the ground. “And you didn’t eat yesterday, either?” Holder nodded again, clutching at his shovel with an iron grip. Donna was shocked. He hadn’t shown any signs of hunger. Unlike her during the first while in the Supermax, the former Peacekeeper hadn’t appeared tired or weak at all. Holder looked ready to crumple now that he was under the guard’s gaze, though. “So,” the guard said, “please give me the reason for this hunger strike!”

“I ate some of the food,” he whined quietly.

The guard looked ready to explode. “What?” she asked. “So some food you eat, and the rest you don’t? And to think that the administration has been wasting food on you for months, thinking you just have a high metabolism!” 

“Yes,” Holder said. “I can’t eat the vegetable stew. It tastes terrible, at least to me. The bread and the fruits are alright.”

“You will eat it,” the guard said calmly. “One way or another. How did you even survive off Peacekeeper rations?” she asked rhetorically, which was not something Holder understood.

“I got food from locals,” he explained, not noticing that the guard did not want to hear it. Donna wasn’t sure she wanted to know just how he got it from them, either. “And I won’t eat that stew! If you try to force me, I’ll just throw up. Believe me, I’ve tried many times.”

The other nine inmates weren’t even pretending to be walking back now. They all stood around, listening to the conversation. “Don’t worry,” the guard said. “The administration won’t waste good food on you anymore. Either you gain weight, or you eat nutrient powder.”

Holder’s eyes lit up. “Nutrient powder?” he asked. “What does that taste like?”

“Like crunchy cotton balls made from paper.”

“I’ll eat that!” Holder said enthusiastically. Wordlessly, the guard took out a packet from her pocket and unwrapped it to reveal a small bar. Holder whipped off his glove to take it, and bit off a piece. He grinned, and shoved the rest into his mouth.

“Thank you so much, guard!” he said. “Can I have more later?”

Behind Donna, Best whispered to Verdant. “Proof he’s not sane enough to be in here - he actually thinks nutrient powder tastes good!” If the bar was the solid form of the unpleasant drinks she had occasionally been given instead of a meal while in prison, Donna saw truth in that statement. The thick fluid had no taste whatsoever, and no texture other than a vague feeling of sludginess, like tea with too much sugar but with no sweetness.

“Move along then, Male Seven!” snapped the guard. “And the rest of you! You’re barely done in time for lunch as is!” Typical Thirteen ill humour. They snapped and snapped, but they didn’t really mean it. Donna put back her shovel without feeling particularly hurried.

“See you in a bit,” she told Theodosius as they entered their respective cell blocks. He told her the same, and they stepped inside. The cell block was deserted, but from the presence of the meal cart, everyone must have been eating lunch. The warmth hit Donna like a blanket, making her face and fingers tingle. She took off her gloves, trying to flex them quickly. Her fingers refused to obey, only clenching and unclenching slowly. Donna rubbed her palms together and breathed on them, trying to get the circulation going.

“Cold?” Weiss asked.

“It didn’t stop me from shoveling,” Donna replied.

Weiss shot her an irritated look and rubbed her own palms together. “I’m also cold,” she said. “You need to stop looking for accusations everywhere.”

Donna shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling abashed. “I just didn’t want to complain in front of you,” she tried to explain. “You lived for so long up north, after all.”

Song cut in. “Well, as you said, it didn’t stop you from shoveling, so that’s all that matters. In fact, I think you even went faster than ever before!”

“Really?” Donna asked. “But the guard said we were slow today!”

“A few of us figured out the best pace,” Song explained. “No need to rush, but we can’t go too slow either. We didn’t get around to explaining it to you, but we didn’t think you two would volunteer. Again. You know, in the Academy, volunteering so often would get you stuck with the worst tasks. Permanently.” The four former Peacekeepers shared a chuckle. “In any case, you kept up without even knowing.”

Kept up? With the former Peacekeepers? Donna suddenly felt very proud of herself. “Uh, thank you,” she said self-consciously. “We just looked at how you were doing and tried to match your pace.”

“And now, we even numbers won’t have anything to complain about,” Jade said with a theatrical sigh. Given that the last time, Donna had been forced to listen to everyone complain about her as she sat right there, she didn’t want to imagine what it had been like when she hadn’t been there.

“What about the way the guard from Two insulted Best?” Donna suggested. “I can’t believe it.”

“Very true,” Song said angrily. “Did you hear what the guard said? How dare he upbraid his former commanding officer in that manner! There must be something very wrong in society if people act like that.”

Donna stayed silent. Being raised on a steady diet of threats that a certain element is trying to unravel the fabric of society and then being smacked over the head with the fact that the society deserved to be unraveled had messed up her ability to tell if things like that were acceptable or not. She was fairly sure that Best didn’t deserve to be treated like that, but then again, what did she know? The more of a fuss the four former Peacekeepers kicked up, the more unsure in her position Donna became.

“They don’t have a proper understanding of hierarchy,” Jade was saying. She didn’t even lower her voice as they approached a warden. “No wonder we’re here, if this is how they think things should be done.” Song agreed. Donna was less sure. Hadn’t it been proven, over and over, that the Peacekeepers had been complicit in terrible crimes all over Panem? Not all of them, of course, but enough to make the Peacekeepers a criminal organization. 

That was one of those questions she had done reading on. The most commonly used excuse of the Peacekeepers, besides the stubborn refusal to admit having done nothing wrong, was the superior orders defense, which turned out to be quite common the world over. How valid was it? The more she talked with former Peacekeepers, the better she understood why they had or had not done certain things, but there was a reason why that defense hadn’t gotten any of them acquitted. 

The greatest argument against Song and the rest of them was that there had been Peacekeepers who had disobeyed. Not necessarily defected, but still willing to not follow criminal orders or carry them out in the intended way. And after all, the manual every Peacekeeper had carried said clearly that criminal orders should not be obeyed, even if nobody had read it. The one time that Donna had brought it up, though, Li had stared at her like the year was 74 and she had just announced her opposition to Snow. She only figured out why later. 

Every child had grown up being told that hurting others was bad, and yet they had also been taught that the Games were good. Few had been able to understand the contradiction, and even fewer had done more than that. Likewise, trainee Peacekeepers had been told over and over to obey, and several words on a piece of paper were nothing compared to the words of an authority figure. The more Donna read about it, the more she was shocked that any of the Peacekeepers at all had been willing to think and act independently, but then again, the sheer poverty and need in some parts of Panem was enough to shock anyone out of their preconceptions. So, what would have been the “normal” response? To realize that circumstances were different than anything they had ever been told, or to go on believing?

The response of the four women walking with Donna had been the latter. They fell silent as they approached the food cart and picked up their trays. Vegetable stew, for the fifth time in a row. Good thing Holder had his nutrient bars. “You have ten minutes to eat,” the guard said. The five women scurried to their cells. Donna ate her lunch quickly, cringing at the feel of soaked trouser hems against bare skin. She’d need to change after the walk, or sitting down for several hours would be unbearable. Her socks felt damp as well, but that would also have to wait. Donna rinsed off the tray and cup in the sink, and leaned against the radiator, trying to warm up, if only slightly.

All too soon, they were called to hand back the trays and go outside. While everyone else was cheered by the prospect of an hour outside, Donna felt reluctant to go back out in the cold. She had warmed up by working during the morning, but just walking around didn’t sound too pleasant. She was thanked several times for getting the shoveling done on time, which felt very nice.

“How was lunch?” Theodosius asked her as they set off down the path. There was a thin layer of compacted snow under her feet. It felt good to walk at a normal speed. “I hope there’s something else for dinner, I don’t want to eat the same thing six times in a row.”

“At least you’re not Holder,” Donna pointed out. 

“Very true. A few of us asked him just how he hasn’t starved to death yet.” He glanced at Holder, who was doing stretches by himself. “In the early stages of the training, they were apparently willing to accommodate him, let him eat energy bars instead of actual meals. He was actually being considered for desk work until they figured out that he was incapable of showing initiative, but very good at obeying. During the last phase of training, he managed to make do, but ended up extremely underweight. When he was deployed, he was stationed in a large village that had recently failed to meet its quota.” Holder had started out in Ten and got reassigned to Eleven shortly afterwards, but not before doing enough things to make Ten unwilling to leave the prosecution of him up to solely Eleven.

“He terrorized them, didn’t he?” Donna asked quietly. The worst thing was that he had been completely unaware of what he was doing. 

Theodosius nodded. “His commanding officer said that any of the inhabitants would be glad to help out the Peacekeepers in any way, shape, or form. Holder was the only one who didn’t understand the reality of the situation; he would go to the soup shop every day and ask for food. They were too scared to say no, especially after the same commanding officer asked Holder sarcastically if Holder would shoot a child, and Holder thought it was an order, and actually shot the child.”

“Sounds like Holder,” Donna said sadly. “The more I learn about him, the more it seems he belongs in a secure hospital. Not in here.”

“It gets worse,” Theodosius said. “I talked for a bit with Longview, they served on the same farm complex in Eleven for a few years. He never hurt anyone of his own volition, always thanked the people who gave him food. But no order was too cruel for him to carry out. He shot a mentally handicapped child for allegedly stealing a pair of night-vision goggles.” Donna had known the gist of that before as that story had been told during their trial, but not in so much detail. What she hadn’t known was that Longview had served with him. “Wait, that was Holder?” she asked, surprised. “I never knew that.” 

“Neither did I. I thought my eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. Remember how a bunch of the others whispered about isolated acts of cruelty?”

Donna would rather have not remembered. “I’m just amazed that Holder and Longview had served together. I didn’t know any of them had known each other before.” A huge chunk of the former Peacekeepers had served in Eleven, but since it had a population of many millions, the likelihood of any of them having ever interacted before was small.

“Me neither,” Theodosius said curtly, as they walked past a small cluster of former Gamemaker assistants. They waved slightly in greeting. Once they were more or less out of earshot, he continued. “I could live with these people for another twenty years, and I still wouldn’t know anything about them.”

Unsure of how to reply, Donna changed the topic. “Walking around the path is so much faster when you don’t have to shovel as you go,” she said. They had already covered a distance that had taken them a very long time to clean of snow. 

Theodosius kicked lightly at the ground. “That it is. My toes are still numb,” he complained. “I should have put on dry socks.”

“But then you’d have ended up with two pairs of wet socks,” Donna argued. “And it’s only an hour. You’re not going to get actual frostbite in this temperature, not if you keep on walking.”

“I actually read a book about this,” Theodosius said. “Well, not really this, but about homeless people. There was a story about a person who slept in their car overnight during winter in wet shoes, with no heating. They ended up with amputated feet.” He shrugged slightly. “Doesn’t really apply to us, but I thought it was an interesting story.”

That was, indeed, very interesting. “Where was the book written?” she asked.

“Uh, China, I think. A city called Harbin. It gets very cold there. A team of researchers did a study on how the homeless survive there during winter, and it became one of the most influential books on the topic. I don’t know the exact title, but it’s self-explanatory.” 

“That sounds fascinating,” Donna said sincerely. It was bad enough for her, shivering in the mornings under a pile of low-quality blankets, what was it like for people who were even worse off? “When I’m done my current geography book, I’ll get that.”

Theodosius took his hand out of his pocket to adjust his cap, and Donna noticed he wasn’t wearing his gloves. “What?” he asked, noticing her staring. “They were soaked, I’d just be even colder if I put them on.” Donna took out her old pair from her pockets and gave them to him. “Oh, thanks!” They fit him just right.

“Maybe you should keep them,” she joked, “since they fit you so well.”

Looking at his hands, Theodosius had to agree. “How did you even wear them?” he asked. “My hands are much bigger than yours.”

“They were just a bit big,” Donna said with a shrug. “I like my current pair better, though.” She held up her hands, encased with the gloves her family had sent her the previous year. This year, they had tried to send in a scarf, but the administration was still unsure of whether it should be allowed.

* * *

Wearing dry clothes, Donna made her way to the gym. Smith was quietly singing an upbeat love song. The other Smith told her to quiet down, which was met with an increase in volume. 

“No, really, could you please stop?” the other Smith said, sounding very upset. Reluctantly, Smith acquiesced. The two Smiths headed for the other gym, and Donna didn’t hear if the argument continued, but in all likelihood, it did.

In the gym, it was cold. Donna debated putting on her gloves. Would her fingers be kept warm by the crocheting, or would the cold numb them and make crocheting difficult? She decided to wait and see. Theodosius, however, was already still wearing his gloves. “My hands are freezing,” he complained, noticing her glance at them. He sat down, picking up his project in his hands and placing the entire thing on his lap. The two of them had recently switched to making sweaters. Donna was still working on the second panel, while Theodosius was already sewing the chest and back together. Holes would be left from which the sleeves and collar would be made. Theodosius laid out the two panels flat and froze, hand holding needle above them. “Wait, did I go too far?” he asked Li.

Li leaned over. “No,” he said, gesturing at the future sweater. “See? There’s a few more rows until the sleeve.” He somehow had memorized the exact patterns for every sweater size he had made, and there were many. 

“Thank you,” Theodosius said, and continued sewing. Donna tried to go faster. She was almost done with the back panel. Li was working on a completely different type of sweater. He had made two long panels, covered with intricate cabling because Li couldn’t make anything that didn’t feature them, which were sewed together until the halfway point to make the back. Then, he sewed together the outer edges, to make the sides. The result was a sleeveless cardigan. Now, he was working on the hood, which would even have a lanyard made from a crochet strand. Whether the administration would acquire for him buttons or a zipper was still up in the air.

By now, a tenth of the inmates was working on sweaters. The administration wanted everyone to make the switch eventually, as handmade sweaters were apparently more desired than their handmade blankets, which were too thin to serve as truly functional blankets in large parts of the country. Sweaters were much, much more complicated, though. Counting the rows was an ordeal. Every so often when working on the first panel, Donna was forced to stop and count. Now that she was working on the second one, though, all she had to do was lay it against the first and see how much was left. Only five and a half rows.

Donna shot a jealous look at Li and his intricate cables. She was having enough difficulties with half double crochet all the way, and so was Theodosius. “Hey, look!” he told her, proffering the sewn-together panels at her. 

“Looks good to me,” she said. It was a very basic vest, with no mistakes Donna could see. “You could probably wear it right now!”

“That’s forbidden,” he deadpanned. “No giant number fifteen on the back, no wearing.” Theodosius placed his project back on his lap, perusing the pattern he and Donna shared. “Mr. Li, how do I start these sleeves?” he asked, leaning over her.

Li was too busy discussing Paylor with Strata and could not answer. “She should just pick a side and stick to it,” he said. “This wobbling back and forth is creating uncertainty.” He turned back to face Theodosius. “Sleeves can be tricky. Let me show you.” Taking the project from Theodosius, he made a few stitches. “Like this. Do you get it now?”

“Yes, thank you.” Theodosius continued the sleeve as Li turned back around and continued his conversation.

“If she had just stuck to the original Depuration plan, at least that would have been consistent,” he said.

Strata was unconvinced. “But you said yourself that it was impractical!”

“Impractical or not, it’s too late to change her mind now. Now that she’s stopped chasing after minor offenders, people will try to push her further. If you give the people a centimetre, they’ll take a kilometre, and that’s if you’re lucky,” Li insisted. 

“I agree,” said Katz. “While I agree in principle with the changes, softness doesn’t lead anywhere good.” 

Now that Katz had also agreed, Strata was nodding her head. “I see what you mean,” she said.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Donna spoke up. “Would you rather have them keep on going with an obviously bad idea? I think it’s a good thing they’re willing to admit they made a mistake.” She finished a row and made the turning stitches. Just a few more rows left!

“But what sort of precedent will that establish?” Katz asked. “If the people know that they can make the government do whatever they want-”

“That is literally the point!” Theodosius exclaimed quietly. “The government does what the people want it to do. That’s what it’s for.”

Katz looked confused. 

“When you put it that way, you make it sound like a good thing,” Li said. 

“I wish we had access to the news,” sighed Katz. “This is all so strange.”

To that, all of them could agree.


	26. Strange Reminisces

“Is this a new family photo?” Dr. Chu asked, gesturing at the photograph of Donna’s family and the cat they had recently been gifted. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“I just got it today,” Donna said. She inspected the ball she was holding, looking for weaknesses. Every so often, the balls would tear and she’d need to get a new one. The one she was fidgeting with right now was white. “There’s a whole backstory to this,” she prompted, smiling.

Dr. Chu peered over her clipboard. “Do tell!”

Seizing the chance to change the topic to something lighter, Donna began telling the story. “For New Year’s, a friend of mine got our kids a cat.” Donna had written clandestinely to a few of her old friends, and they had agreed to chip in. “Dem tried to send me a picture, but since we’re only allowed photos of family members, it got confiscated. I wrote back, said to send in a family photo, with someone holding the cat. That worked.” 

She picked up the photo, looking at everyone’s faces. The younger kids were, of course, practically unrecognizable. Every time she got a photo of them, she had to re-learn what they looked like. And Dem’s hair was now threaded with white strands, about as much as Donna’s. Her parents looked the same as before.

“Can I see the photo?” the psychologist asked. Donna handed it over. “The cat is very cute,” she said. It was indeed very cute, a small ball of black fur lying on Laelia’s shoulder. Rather appropriately, its name was Inky. “And so are the kids. Who are they, exactly?”

Donna leaned over to see the photo. “In the middle, that’s my parents and husband,” she said, pointing them out. “Sitting to their left is Donna, she’s fourteen. On my husband’s lap is Octavius, he’s four. Next to my mother is Lars, he’s eleven. The one with the cat is Laelia, she’s six. And the one standing next to Lars is Aulus, he’s eight.”

“They’ve grown so much since the last photo,” Dr. Chu marveled. “Do you still have it with you?”

“No,” said Donna. “Remember, I’m only allowed five photos, so I get rid of old ones regularly. They’re in the storage room.” At this rate, she’d have an entire album’s worth of photos upon release.

Dr. Chu clapped a hand to her forehead suddenly. “I completely forgot to wish you a happy birthday!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. It was indeed Donna’s fortieth birthday.

“It’s no problem,” Donna rushed to assuage her. It was flattering, though, that the psychologist remembered her birthday. “I forgot it myself.”

* * *

At the end of the session, Dr. Chu gave Donna a book in a plain cover. “This is the book Aurelius and Mallow wrote about your trial,” she explained. “I thought you might be interested.” Before Donna could voice her concerns, the psychologist explained, “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow to pick it up.” That was still a bit risky, but Donna was willing to chance it. 

“In that case, could you please hide this somewhere, and give it back in two days?” Donna handed the psychologist one of the books from the table, which she hadn’t started reading yet. “We’re only allowed to have five at once.” Dr. Chu placed it in her bag. If only Donna could have used the psychologist as a letter-carrier! It would have been so easy for Dr. Chu to pass her extra paper. The risk that the psychologist would simply go to the administration and get Donna banned from writing forever was too great, however. 

Dr. Chu got up, putting away her clipboard. “I will see you in two days!” she said. “And happy birthday!” As she left the cell, Donna sat back on her cot and began to read the book. It was called _Twenty-Four Cells in Lodgepole: A Diary of the Trial of the Key Criminals_. Lodgepole Municipality wasn’t even in the Capitol proper, but its Justice Building had been the only one to survive the fighting, so it had been chosen as the site of the trials. The covers of the book were plain grey, but the inside cover and the first page had two photographs - of the building surrounded by rubble, and of the twenty-four defendants sitting in the dock. Donna found herself immediately. In the photo, she was talking to Theodosius.

She went through the first row, identifying each and every one. Then the second. Most of these people were long-dead, but as Donna studied the photograph, she could almost hear their voices. Slice looked like she was trying to melt into the low wall. Donna barely ever thought about the woman. What was she doing now? Was life in the regular prison system very different from life in the Inter-District Supermax Prison?

Donna forced herself to stop staring at the photograph and start reading the actual book. She immediately paused when she got to the dedication, though. The book was dedicated to ‘everyone who will not be able to read this book because of the actions of the people featured therein’. Donna turned the page with more force than necessary, and read the acknowledgements, where Drs. Aurelius and Mallow (how had they decided whose name would be first? Did they decide to stick with the alphabetical order everyone had gotten accustomed to?) thanked their teams, the people who agreed to be interviewed by them, everyone else who had worked on the trials, their families, and each other. 

The introduction went back to being unpleasant, as the two explained that to understand a criminal does not mean to condone them or their actions. Donna read the two sentences about herself, feeling like she hadn’t been supposed to be able to do so. It was odd, to read about yourself from the point of view of someone else, almost like an out-of-body experience. It was hard to wrap her head around that the Donna Blues Aurelius and Mallow wrote about was actually herself.

Donna skimmed through the first chapter. It was the backstories of the doctors and of how they got the job, and she had heard about all that before. What she had not known, however, was that they had carried voice recorders during their sessions. Several of Donna’s co-defendants had felt uncomfortable at the sight of note-taking, but Aurelius and Mallow hadn’t wanted to potentially miss something. Fortunately, they hadn’t recorded her. The thought of a recording of her having a meltdown existing somewhere out there was almost too much to bear.

The book was formatted in an odd way, narration, segments of interviews, and snippets from the diary Dr. Mallow had kept all mixed together. It was written in third person, but many of the footnotes were in first person. An account of a disagreement the doctors had had was footnoted with _I still think I was right -S. Mallow_. Donna chuckled as she read it. They had both been so professional, it was strange to imagine them joking around. 

As she continued reading, Donna felt the strangeness of reading about herself as if she was long-dead. The doctors had started out being unsure of whether the trial would be fair, and it showed. Donna felt a stab of anxiety when she read about Coin’s death, too caught up in the book to remember that this had all happened several years ago. Now that Donna thought about it, that had been the only time when an unexpected death had led to things getting better. Everyone had walked around like on eggshells until, against all reason and logic, Coin’s successor spoke out against her policies, tossed Thirteen’s skeletons onto the street together with the closets, and publicly proclaimed his support for Paylor as president. It hadn’t resulted in fundamental changes for Donna and the rest of them, as the trial of the key criminals was, in hindsight, already scrupulously fair, but it had made everyone feel much more confident.

Donna took one of her blank pieces of paper and jotted down some ideas. Dr. Chu would probably expect a full book review. She continued reading. Slice had told many stories about her imprisonment in Thirteen, but it turned out that they had been _diminished_. She shuddered at the description of the cell Slice had been confined to for months, fed only nutrient sludge. Two and a half by three by four was small enough, but Slice had spent months in a cell _too small to stretch out in_. The ceiling had been too low to stand, or even crouch. It had been narrow enough for Slice to have been able to touch both sides with her elbows simultaneously, and so short, she had only been able to stretch out her legs when sitting up against the wall. The light had, of course, been constantly on. Hygiene consisted of a hole in the floor. Donna felt very fortunate to have been captured at the very end of the fighting. No wonder Slice had looked so drained and pale during her first few weeks back in the Capitol.

It was clear why Slice had been unwilling to go into too much detail. It was also clear why she hadn’t told the rest of them about how when she had been brought to jail, Warden Vance offered her breakfast even though it had been several hours too early, and even scrounged up a bun for her. It was, however, a shame to only be finding this out now about the person she had spent the better part of a year constantly interacting with. 

Donna read on, eager to find out more about the twenty-two people who had managed to remain near-strangers to her despite everything. She couldn’t help but laugh at the part where Blatt called the indictment a bad joke. She had managed to completely forget who it had been to write that. The doctors singled out Donna and Theodosius as coming the closest to honestly in their answers. Theodosius had written “Even in a totalitarian regime, people are still responsible for their actions”, and Donna - “ I see reason behind all of these accusations”. Quite a few of them had actually been utterly absurd, but it was at least possible to see the logic behind them, not to mention that roughly half of the defendants ended up acquitted on at least one charge. Their trial had been no show trial, despite how unlikely that had seemed back then. Reading her own anxious ramblings was extremely awkward. 

It was impossible to focus on the book. She felt anxious, cold and miserable. Donna put aside the book and solved a few number puzzles until curiosity drove her to continue the book.

Immediately after the chapter that introduced the participants of the trial, there was a section of glossy pages. Donna perused the photographs. Drs. Aurelius and Mallow drinking coffee and eating donut holes from the courthouse coffee shop as they looked up from a laptop screen to face the camera. The defector from the Capitol and the Rebel from a very well-off family from Eleven had made a rather odd tandem. The prosecution team from Two in a group photo. Donna recognized most of the faces. The judge from Twelve, who had actually been a clerk in Twelve’s Justice Building with a passion for reading the Constitution, Criminal Code, and true-crime novels from the District’s scanty library. Whenever Donna had seen her she had looked extremely overwhelmed, but she looked to be almost smiling in the photograph. Huge stacks of papers lying around a large room, and several people from the documents division working on their computers amidst the chaos or going through the piles. It must had been more controlled than it appeared in the photo, as nobody had ever complained that they were unable to get a document or another. There was also a photograph of Donna in her cell in which she looked a solid ten years younger for some reason, looking up from the electric typewriter she had been issued for a few months. 

Before the trial had even started, she had been asked by various individuals, both military and civil, to describe her work in as much detail as possible, from how Arena forcefields had been constructed to how emergency defenses had been built up so quickly during the assault on the Capitol. Unwilling to suffer through her longhand or risk giving her a computer, they had managed to dig up an electric typewriter somewhere. She had spent hours typing away, eager to explain all that she knew. Donna stared at the photograph, realizing that she remembered that exact day. Next to the typewriter, barely fitting into the photograph, were a large cup and two slices of bread. Donna remembered how they had once been given bread together with their nutrient sludge. Consuming both at once had been a terrible idea, as the loaf bread absorbed the thick sludge, creating an extremely strange texture that was impossible to choke down.

Donna decided to remind Theodosius of that. If she had to remember the nutrient sludge, Warden Vance, and guards blasting _Don’t Lock Me Away_ late at night, so did he. She chuckled at a photograph of a fifteen-year-old soldier with a radio, and stopped laughing when she saw a shot of the corridor, guards at every cell. It was bad enough now, when anyone could look into her cell at any moment and guards could burst in whenever they pleased, but at least she wasn’t under constant surveillance anymore. Donna had forgotten it, but seeing the photograph reminded her all over again.

The anti-suicide measures, ironically, had been extremely damaging to mental health. Whenever Donna had been in her cell, someone was always watching her through the peephole. When she slept, she was poked awake with a stick whenever her face or hands were hidden from view, even though it was so cold in there for a while, not being able to keep her hands under the blanket made sleep impossible. They couldn’t go anywhere without being cuffed to a guard, they were strip-searched every time they were taken to wash, and multiple guards were present whenever she talked to her lawyer or family.

Why had Dr. Chu even thought this book was a good idea? It was a fascinating read, but Donna didn’t want to be reminded of these things only a few years after they had happened. Or maybe that was the point? Perhaps Dr. Chu wanted to know how she would deal with a reminder of all these things. Donna put down the book again and went to drink some water. She paced around the cell, thinking. Then, she splashed some water on her face. 

It was strange, to read the words of dead people. Donna could almost hear them speaking sometimes, complaining about one thing or another or telling stories. To Drs. Aurelius and Mallow they had been research subjects, but to Donna, they had been coworkers and rivals. Some of them she had met with regularly for years, others she had been introduced to for the first time at the trial. Everything was just slightly off. The doctors had done a very good job in analyzing everyone’s mental states, but from time to time Donna was slapped with the reminder that they hadn’t really known them. Although, could they really be blamed for it? It would take someone who had been in those circles for years to write accurately about them.

Donna sat back down and continued reading. Every chapter or so, she had to get up and walk around. When the lights turned off it took her a long time to fall asleep, and she woke up when it was completely dark outside. Even when her eyes adjusted, it was still impossible to read. Irritated, Donna tried to fall asleep again, but it was impossible. She tossed and turned, thinking. Should she write a clandestine letter about this? But why? To tell Livia and Dancer that the book was accurate? Maybe. A part of her also wanted to write about what the trial had been like for her, but how could she do it without access to her diary entries from back then?

In any case, it was a moot point. Donna simply didn’t have enough paper to write something substantial. She had asked the sympathetic guards, and both had replied that it was too risky. Until that changed, there would be no real writing for her.

* * *

“So, how was the book?” Dr. Chu asked as she hid it in her satchel and gave back the library book. Donna put it back on the table.

Donna stretched the ball, running her fingertips over the little balls. “Interesting,” she said. “More accurate than I expected.”

“And what did you expect?” Dr. Chu predictably asked.

Why had she even said that? “Uh, I’m not sure,” Donna said, fidgeting with the ball. “I guess what the media was saying? I know it’s dumb to think that they would have been influenced by the media when they saw us every day, but still.” She shrugged, staring at her hands.

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “What sort of effect do you think the book had?”

How was Donna supposed to be able to answer that when she had no access to newspapers? “How am I supposed to know?” she asked, frowning.

“I asked you what you _think_ ,” the psychologist pointed out.

Squeezing the ball, Donna wondered if anyone had even noticed that the book had come out. As far as she could tell, Panem wanted to forget any of the Games criminals even existed. “I don’t think it had much of an effect,” she said. “The sort of person whose misconceptions it could have corrected probably doesn’t want to read about the topic.”

“Actually,” Dr. Chu said, “it’s an international bestseller. You’re correct about how it had done in Panem, though.”

Donna hadn’t even thought about other countries. “Well, that makes sense, too. They’re the ones who want to know more, but everyone here just wants to move on.”

“What do you think about that?”

“I certainly can’t blame them,” Donna said.

“But do you think it’s a good idea?” the psychologist insisted.

“Do you really think I can be considered an authority on the subject?” Donna snapped.

Dr. Chu adjusted her kerchief, unfazed by the outburst. “I simply am curious to know what you think.”

“Well,” Donna said angrily, “if they want to approach it this way, then by all means they should be able to do it.”

“And what of the fact that there are people who do not want to avoid having this conversation?”

Was Dr. Chu trying to drive her insane? “They are also justified in their opinion,” Donna said, clenching the ball in a fist.

Tap, tap, tap went the pen. “But you do not have your own opinion?”

“No,” said Donna, not elaborating any further. Dr. Chu didn’t say anything, either. 

Not having anything else to add, Donna stayed silent, and the quiet dragged on. Eventually, Dr. Chu accepted that Donna wasn’t going to add anything else. “Why?” she eventually prompted.

“Because they are both right, in a way,” Donna said. “What happened - it shouldn’t be forgotten. It can’t be! But I don’t blame the Districts for focusing on rebuilding and wanting to move on. Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting.”

Dr. Chu wrote something down. “Are you recording this verbatim?” Donna asked warily. 

“No,” the psychologist answered. “The occasional phrase, yes, but also general impressions. Were there some things written down in the book you’d have preferred to not appear in print?”

“Well, yes,” Donna said. “Of course, they were right to publish it, but reading about my own meltdowns is just embarrassing.” She had actually skipped a few sections, unwilling to read anyone’s reaction to the IGR testimonies.

“Are you worried about how you will be perceived by others?”

Unless all of the inmates got access to the book, it wouldn’t have any sort of effect. Plus, Dr. Chu wasn’t mentioning something. “I think the information that was revealed by the trial already did that,” she said acidly. “If anything, finding out I have a family will make them  
_more_ sympathetic towards me.”

Dr. Chu held up a hand. “Now, hold that last thought, we’ll come back to it later. What I want to know first is, are you aware that there are many people who view you in a positive way?”

Donna struggled to imagine how anyone sane could follow the trial and come away thinking about her in a positive way. She doubted that the average person could have listened to her testimony in an unbiased way after the prosecutor’s scathing statement. And even when she had done well on her cross-examination, most of the press had called out the prosecutor for being “too weak”! “Did they even follow the trial?” Donna joked.

“They did,” Dr Chu replied. “Some people believe you made a good impression, or even that you were unfairly convicted.” 

Donna dug her thumbs into the ball, trying to figure out a way to process the last part of that. She had always insisted that her sentence was just, and not only because it would have been foolish to complain. A small part of her had been willing to treat the matter cynically, in an attempt to gain favour. It made sense that some people would have been inclined to think favourably of her in light of that, but to take it to the extreme like that?

“I think they’re more optimistic than I am,” Donna said. “Look, you know I’m not delusional. Barring an extremely serious change in society, my odds of getting out of here early are practically nonexistent.” Her friends were monitoring the situation for her, and they all said that it would be pointless to press for clemency now. “I, of course, wish I didn’t have to be here, but I am.” Donna squeezed the ball, watching the seam threaten to burst. “Some fringe voices won’t change anything.”

“And what if they stopped being fringe?”

That way lay madness. “I will not speculate about that,” Donna said, trying to hide her irritation. She kneaded the ball furiously, feeling her heart rate speed up. “I’m not going to beat my head against the wall.”

Fortunately, Dr. Chu backed off. “That is a very reasonable approach,” she said. “Now, let’s come back to something you said before. You think that finding out about your more personal life will make readers of Aurelius and Mallow’s book be inclined to show sympathy towards you.”

“Of course,” Donna shrugged. She paused for a moment, letting herself calm down. “If we’re not monsters on the television but normal people with families, it’s harder to hate us like some do.”

Dr. Chu nodded along. “There were some criticisms of the book, that it quotes too heavily without debunking what is said.”

“But the point of the book is that it’s about us, what we thought and said when one-on-one with a mental health expert! It would have been strange if it didn’t quote heavily.”

“I mostly agree,” Dr. Chu said. “This is not something someone should read if they want to get a basic understanding, but the fact remains that taking out a single book from the library is much easier than digging around the Web, reading articles. It’s too soon for truly comprehensive books.”

Donna imagined a shelf of truly comprehensive books on a library somewhere, an entirely new subcategory just for her and the rest of the Games criminals. “I don’t want to be remembered,” she found herself saying. “Not like this.” The fact remained, though, that this book was famous all over the world. Decades from now, people would read about her, and that prospect made Donna want to fall through the floor and cease to exist. “I never wanted to be famous, you know.”

“Not even when you were promoted to such a high position?”

“Especially not then,” Donna said, shaking her head. “The more famous you were back then, the more enemies you had. And nobody in the Districts even knew I existed! Now, though, I’m practically a household name. Sure, by the time I’m old young people will only know about me if they are interested in history, but now?” She clutched at the ball as if it was her only hope.

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “Are you worried about how the release of the book is affecting your family?”

“What?” Donna asked, but as she thought about it, the more truth there was in the psychologist’s words. “Well, I wasn’t really consciously thinking about it,” she said awkwardly, “but it’s always in the back of my mind, so I suppose I’m worried about that, too. My oldest children are old enough to read the book, if they wanted.”

“Do you think they will?”

“I doubt it. I think it would be too weird to read about one’s parent like that.”

Dr. Chu glanced at her watch and looked back up, not saying what the time was. “You don’t think they’ll get curious? I know your second-oldest likes to read newspapers.”

Donna shook her head. “The newspapers don’t go into the sordid details. At least not in that way. When they published sensationalized stories, they were more funny than anything.” 

“But they did publish overheard snippets of conversation.”

“They weren’t actually damaging, though. At least not to me.” When the newspapers had written that Lark’s lawyer actually hated their client (which they did, but still were professional enough to defend Lark so well he had thanked them at the end despite being sentenced to death), everyone except Lark had laughed their heads off.

* * *

Several days later, it was obvious that every single inhabitant of the Supermax had read Drs. Aurelius and Mallow’s book. Several directors were seen prowling around the yard, listening to conversations with thunderous facial expressions. It was too late, however. The book was read, and now all they could do was to beef up the defenses in case there was a next time.

“And I thought my trial was crazy,” said Vartha to Donna and Theodosius as they walked around the path, compacting the thin layer of fresh snow underfoot. “At least none of us asked to have a life sentence replaced with _death_.” He looked confused at the very idea.

“Actually, it makes sense from Best’s point of view,” Donna pointed out. 

“At least none of us threw tea at a journalist.” It was seeming like Krechet would go down in history not for being the deputy head of the Death Squad, but for losing his temper once during lunch and chucking his tea at a nosy journalist. After that, the guards had softened up towards him. The man who had been perhaps the most hated of the lot had been offered tea at every turn for weeks.

“Now hold on,” Theodosius said. “You literally had one defendant punch another _when the court was in session_. I think that beats tea.”

“And here I was thinking Dovek reacted badly when someone’s testimony reflected badly on him,” Donna said lightly. “He just seethed and complained to Oldsmith.” How Snow’s former secretary had tolerated that was a mystery to Donna. It had been annoying enough on her end of the dock.

Vartha chuckled darkly. “I was also tempted to throttle Hatcher from time to time, but I never actually tried it.” He looked around to make sure Hatcher wasn’t in earshot. “That man was like an eel. Still is, probably. I can’t believe he got a quarter of what I did!” Hatcher had been the head of sales while Vartha had headed the legal department, so Donna wasn’t inclined to disbelieve the verdicts. “Do you think someone will write a book about us as well?”

Theodosius shook his head. “Too little attention on the subsequent trials. Maybe a few decades from now, someone will go through the files and put something together.” He moved a pebble from one pocket to another, counting off a lap.

“Well, at least there’s that,” Vartha said with a sigh, turning himself slightly against the wind. Donna, face wrapped in the scarf the administration had just passed on to her, didn’t feel the need. Vartha noticed. “I wish I had a scarf,” he moaned, cringing as an icy blast hit them. 

Theodosius raised his arm in front of his face but reconsidered almost immediately, hiding his hand in his pocket. He was actually supposed to have received two scarves, but they were still being debated due to their alleged high quality. “Can’t you ask your family?” he asked.

“I did,” Vartha said, “but it’s been months, and nothing!”

“That’s terrible!” Theodosius said kindly. “You know, my family’s sending me two scarves. You can have one.”

Vartha nearly tripped. “Wait, really?” he asked, staring at Theodosius with shocked eyes. “You’d just give me one of your scarves?”

“Why not?” Donna said. “The former Peacekeepers have a whole supply ring going.” Theodosius nodded.

“I don’t need two scarves,” he said awkwardly, “and you need one. Makes sense to share.” He hunched over, as if expecting to be insulted. 

“Well, if you’re sure.” Vartha reached up to tuck loose strands of white hair under his cap. Despite being in his early fifties, he hadn’t had a drop of colour in his hair for over twenty years, a fact he had used to conceal with dye until his arrest. “I would be very glad to have a scarf.”

“You’re welcome,” said Theodosius, straightening up slightly. “Although, with the administration the way it is, you’ll probably get it sometime around mid-summer.”


	27. New Task

Holding her cap in her hands, Donna waited for the warden to start talking. The thirty-one women were lined up in the corridor, not saying a word or moving a finger. Donna shifted from foot to foot, feeling a soreness in her knees. The previous day, she had stood for a long time with locked knees when helping do repairs in the shed, and now they were aching. 

“Starting today and until you are finished,” the warden said, “you will be repainting your cells and the corridors. You will finish painting your cell, and then proceed to the corridor you have been assigned to. If your group is done early, you will be reassigned to a different one. Materials are in the storage cupboard on the second floor. Dismissed!”

“Seriously?” hissed Blatt as they made their way to the bulletin board. “They’re making us run up and down the stairs just to get another can of paint!”

Checking the list, Donna found out that she was going to be painting the basement together with Theodosius, Vartha, Li, Katz, Strata, Weiss, and Stein. Donna imagined the directors arguing over who should be assigned to work with whom. Other than Vartha, these were all the people she sat with when crocheting. “At least we’ll get to do something else for a change,” she said, trying to look on the bright side. “I’m not looking forward to running up and down two flights of stairs, though.”

Blatt studied the list. “Just send Li to do everything,” she said, backtracking and letting others get closer. “I’m sure running up two flights of stairs is as easy as walking ten metres to him.”

For now, though, they only had one flight of stairs to worry about. Donna volunteered to bring down the supplies, and immediately regretted it. Walking up the stairs was bad enough, walking down the stairs with two paint cans in each hand was worse. The gate to the cell block was unlocked, fortunately, so she didn’t have to stand and wait for someone to open it. Donna lowered the cans to the ground and straightened up, exhaling in relief and rubbing at her hands. Then, she had to go up again and get more supplies. By the third trip, she was wondering why she had even volunteered. The fifth and final trip left her feeling completely drained and breathing heavily.

“Look at Blues,” Donna heard Blatt whisper in a sarcastic tone to several others. “Model inmate, isn’t she? Running to and fro at a snap of the fingers?” Donna wanted to point out that the former Peacekeepers approached physically demanding tasks like their honour was at stake and thus her own willingness to do extra work wasn’t anything special compared to them, but Grass cut in first.

“You still trying to impress them?” she asked Donna. “Didn’t work so well last time.” 

Unsure of what to say, Donna jammed a brush handle under the lid of a can to open it, revealing white paint. Leta and Kremser were sorting paint rollers and brushes by size into piles even as everyone was starting to take what they needed. Donna placed a paint roller in her pocket, jammed a roll of paper under her left arm, and picked up the can of paint she had opened with her right hand. Cans of black and white paint had been issued with the obvious implication that they needed to be mixed to make grey, but since no instructions had been given, Donna decided to go with plain white and then say it was very light grey if confronted. She stood in the middle of the cell, wondering what to start with first. Maybe the ceiling, get the hardest part out of the way first? Donna went back outside and got a stepladder. Back in her cell, she draped the paper over the sink and toilet and placed a piece on the floor against the wall, wondering if she’d be able to get away with stealing some of the paper.

It made sense that some paper would be torn to fit better, or be used to wipe up spills. Donna placed the paint can on the top of the stepladder, climbed to the top step, and dunked the roller into the can. As she waited for the excess to pour off, she wondered how much she would be able to get away with. Maybe a palm-sized piece or so at a time. But what if they intensified the searches, fearing exactly that? She’d need to wait and see before doing anything. But what if they were trying to lull them into a false sense of confidence?

As Donna reached up to start painting the ceiling, she decided to ask the sympathetic guards if they knew anything. She moved the roller back and forth, drips of paint still getting on her despite everything. After only a few applications of paint, her knees started to hurt. This just wasn’t working. Donna climbed down and decided to start with the bottom of the wall instead. Adjusting the paper so she could reach the wall, Donna sat down on the cold floor with her can of paint in front of her and began painting the formerly grey wall a bright white.

Despite being alone, it wasn’t boring. There was a clear sense of progress, which let her set little goals that were replaced by new ones as soon as she was done with one. She tried to go faster and faster, eager to be able to talk to Theodosius. 

Finish up this bit near the floor. 

Make it as tall as the bit next to it. 

Reach as high as possible from a sitting position.

Add another layer of paint to it, hide the grey fully. And so on and so on.

As she painted, Donna let her mind wander to the District Affairs trial that had recently ended. HIgh-ranking functionaries from that ministry had been tried for their participation in the oppression of the Districts. Theodosius had worked with many of them, as had Donna to a smaller extent.. All of them were in danger of receiving the supreme penalty. She forced herself to stop thinking about it, not wanting to give herself anxiety. Instead, she looked around the cell and out the window, observing the bare branches of the tree that could be seen. It was strange, to be in her cell at this time of day. The brightness of the sun combined powerfully with the brightness of the lightbulb, and the white paint was making it even worse.

“Wow,” Donna said, “they’re really messing with you, aren’t they? This isn’t the best use of your effort. You glow when it’s light and don’t when it’s dark - where’s the logic?”

 _You’re the one who doesn’t want it to be light at night,_ the lightbulb pointed out.

“That’s very true,” Donna said, shifting over slightly and moving her can of paint. “You must be upset at this misuse of your abilities, though.”

 _What does it matter to me in what circumstances I glow?_ the lightbulb pointed out, and Donna could imagine the exasperated tone. _All I know is glow, or don’t glow. The amount of light already present doesn’t have any effect on me._

“But do you notice it?” Donna asked, leaning against the toilet and stretching out her legs.

 _Why would I? I wasn’t given a new task, merely had the old one get easier,_ the lightbulb explained. _I don’t have to glow as much, and that’s all that matters._

That made sense. The lightbulb hadn’t been made to think critically but to glow. To it, nothing outside glowing or not glowing mattered.

* * *

Pushing herself to the limit, Donna managed to finish three of the walls before lunch. The floor, her fingers and her clothes were covered in drops of paint, and even her hair had a new white streak where she had adjusted her cap with a dirty hand. Washing the paint off skin with the cold sink water was hard enough, so she didn’t bother trying to clean her shirt. Laundry was tomorrow in any case.

Lunch was buckwheat with vegetables, a tiny loaf of black bread that easily fit in her palm, a handful of dried fruits, and tea. Since the tea was actually hot for once, Donna tossed the fruits into it to let them soak. It would improve the flavour of the tea and make eating the fruits easier. Despite the tough crust that cut up the roof of her mouth, the bread wasn’t crumbly at all, and the inside was soft. Donna tore off pieces and used them to wipe clean the part of the tray that had held the buckwheat, even though there wasn’t really anything to wipe up. Whatever juice the vegetables had released when being cooked must have been absorbed by the buckwheat. 

The tea had a slightly fruity taste and the fruits were slightly softer, so Donna was counting it as a win. She nibbled slowly on the last piece of dried apple as she recorded what she had just had in her chart. Then, she climbed onto her cot, trying to put her face as close to the open window as possible. The smell of paint was overwhelming. Donna stood there for a while until they were called for the afternoon walk. The doors were left open, for ventilation purposes.

* * *

“How’s the painting going?” Donna asked Theodosius, whose cap had a large streak of paint on it. His trousers and shoes were likewise splattered with paint drops, but his jacket hid his shirt.

“Not too bad,” he said. “Finished the ceiling and most of two walls.”

“I did three walls. Maybe we’ll be done at the same time!”

Theodosius scooped up some snow and began to make snowballs. “Here, could you hold these two?” he asked, handing one to her, and then another. Donna reluctantly took them, not wanting to expose her hands to the freezing wind, as he made a third one. Theodosius took them back and began to juggle as he walked. “Yeah, that would be nice. You think we might be done in three days?”

“Probably,” Donna said. There would be no painting in the afternoon, as the cells would need to be aired out. Theodosius dropped one ball, but kept on going with just two. “Depends on if the second coat takes more or less time.” 

Theodosius tossed the snowballs to the side and adjusted his scarf so it covered his ears better. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see. By the way, how did you figure out the ratio of black to white paint? I just gave up and used white.”

It hadn’t even entered Donna’s mind that others could have had the same idea as her, though in hindsight, it was an easy thing to think of. “Same!” she said. “It’s so much easier this way.”

“Oh, wow, really?” Theodosius asked, eyes wide above his scarf. “I thought I was going to be the only one.”

“Do you think the administration’s going to be upset?” she asked anxiously. “If all of us paint our cells different colours, it won’t be uniform like they want.”

Adjusting his scarf again, Theodosius echoed her words. “I was thinking about that, too. What if Thirteen kicks up a fuss? We’ll just have to repaint it all over again.” Only his eyes were visible between the scarf and the cap, wide and dark. 

The prospect of having to redo everything made Donna’s heart clench. “I hope not,” she said fervently. “I just don’t want to work alone,” she added in a softer tone. “Whenever I’m in my cell, I can feel my mind going.”

“Don’t remind me!” Theodosius said lightly. “We’re outside. Why are we talking about being inside?”

A powerful gust of wind blew, hitting them in the face. It often seemed like the wind was always in their faces, no matter in what direction they were going. “I am ready for spring,” Donna grumbled. Her toes were starting to feel numb.

“Same. I can’t believe I ever managed to go without my scarf,” Theodosius said for the tenth time since getting the scarf. “This winter has been just terrible.”

Donna chuckled. “Don’t let them hear you say that,” she said, referring to the former Peacekeepers who had been stationed in the coldest Districts.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hope,” Theodosius said as he turned around to face Hope, who was right behind them, “but I am very, very cold.”

Hope looked at him with an unimpressed facial expression. She wore no scarf, but Donna knew she had gotten a pair of warm socks through Aslanov’s helpful brother. “It could be worse,” she said.

“Could be better, too,” Donna said, pulling up her own scarf.

* * *

Painting was so much easier when you didn’t have to rush. Now that most of their little group was gathered in the basement, Donna and the others could go as slowly as they wanted. She crouched next to a large bucket, mixing one part white paint and two parts black with a small wooden dowel.

“I just went one-to-one,” Stein said, scratching his head. “This is going to look downright _eclectic_.”

Katz disagreed. “As long as the corridors all look the same, they won’t care. When you’ve got a lot of people living in total uniformity, they need to be allowed some individuality, or they’ll start acting out in an attempt to differentiate themselves from others.” 

“I don’t think Thirteen uses that manual,” Strata pointed out as she put together the long roller. No positioning buckets on top of stepladders here. “Also, do any of you men know when Li will deign to show up?” she added in an irritated tone. The former Peacekeepers never antagonized Li when he was even potentially in earshot, but he wasn’t here now.

Theodosius, Vartha, and Stein all shook their heads. “Last I checked, he still had one and a half walls left,” Stein said. The former Peacekeepers exchanged dark looks. Peacekeeper solidarity battled with the universal loathing for the Death Squad, both attitudes incomprehensible to Donna as, ironically enough, she got along better with Li than with any other former Peacekeeper.

Even now, Katz was trying to antagonize Theodosius about something, and he was giving back as good as he got. The argument seemed to be about the scarf he had given to Vartha, who was mixing another portion of paint and ignoring them. The seven of them were being watched over by a solitary guard who was sitting in a folding chair and handwriting an essay. 

The paint had by now become an even grey. “This part’s ready,” Donna said, pouring half of it into another bucket. Vartha echoed her.

“All right, then,” said Katz, breaking off her argument mid-sentence. “We’ll split off into pairs - two at this end of the walls, two on the other. I’ll start alone.” Strata, Weiss, and Stein seemed to sag slightly, eyeing each other. After a moment’s deliberation, Weiss moved towards Vartha. Donna wondered why. The only thing she could think of was that Weiss’ sentence was three years longer than that of the two others.

Donna picked up a bucket and moved towards the cell block gate, right next to the guard who didn’t even look up from his clipboard as they unfolded the small ladder. While they did have paint rollers with telescoping handles, those were only two metres long, and the ceilings were all four metres. They laid out the paper and set up their supplies on top of it. Donna glanced at the guard’s essay as she put down the bucket of paint. The man from Ten was too engrossed in the economic consequences of free trade to notice her.

“How long do you think this will take us?” Theodosius asked as he dipped his roller into the bucket. “I calculated how much time it takes to paint a square metre, but I was rushing when I painted my cell.”

“No idea,” said Katz from behind them. “There’s no time limit to this, so why worry? Just do what you ought, and what happens - happens.” Donna agreed with that sentiment, though probably not in the way Katz had intended it.

* * *

“For the millionth time,” Katz snapped, “I did not choose to be promoted to Head! It was dumped on my head!”

Vartha was unimpressed. “Then why didn’t you turn down the appointment?” he asked. “I know the person being originally considered for the position turned it down without even giving a reason.”

“Because if I turned it down, Command would have started asking questions about why everyone was disobeying,” Katz said coldly. “One person is happenstance. Maybe they’ve decided they’re more useful staying in the populated area where they’re already known.” She stretched out to reach the ceiling, knees braced against the top of the stepladder. “More than that, and it starts to look more like serial insubordination. If you had turned down your promotion, what would have that led to?”

“There was a difference,” Vartha insisted. 

Katz stopped painting the ceiling and lowered her paint roller. “What difference?” she asked, staring straight at him. “Tell me, were the military and civilian authorities truly so different that something as simple as turning down promotions was not handled in similar ways?”

“Actually, it was,” Theodosius spoke up as Vartha scurried off to rejoin Weiss, though they were close enough to overhear without straining. “The first time I was being considered for promotion to minister, I refused, citing a lack of experience. It was accepted, someone else was selected, and when they were forced to retire, I was offered the position again. That time, I accepted.” He fiddled with the roller, struggling to shorten the handle.

“And how old were you when this happened?” Katz asked.

“I was thirty-three when I accepted the post,” he said, trying to remember. Everyone pretended to work as they listened, even the guard. “That means I was in my late twenties when it was first offered to me.”

Vartha’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “What did you do, save Snow’s life or something? When I was in my late twenties, I was an intern making minimum wage!”

Theodosius scratched his head. “I have no idea why so absurdly early,” he said. He had, in fact, been half the age of the next youngest minister. “Maybe Snow wanted to replace the old crowd with young blood, realized just how terrible of an idea it was early on, but didn’t see any reason to get rid of me.” Donna had once heard that he had been set up to fail by someone. “The same thing happened to Mrs. Blues, by the way,” he pointed out. “We were actually given our high posts in the same month.”

“Yes, but I actually climbed the career ladder, though quickly,” Donna corrected him gently. “I got an internship already in undergrad, so even though I had to work during grad school, I was able to join a firm immediately after graduating through the connections I got there. I was assigned to on-location work when I was twenty-seven, so a year later. Six years on location was enough to get noticed, especially since I didn’t participate in political intrigues.”

“Didn’t your father help out when you were applying for jobs after grad school?” Theodosius asked.

Donna shook her head. “He hated the Games. I doubt he would have helped me get a job with them.”

“Alright,” said Vartha. “I understand what happened with you, Mrs. Blues. But what about you, Mr. Coll?”

Before Theodosius could answer, Li cut in. “Thirty-three is not much older than twenty-nine, and Head Engineer was a position equivalent in prestige to that of a minister.”

“I just explained to you, I did go through every step of the career ladder, though very quickly,” Donna said, feeling like she was being forced to defend herself. “My non-participation in politics paradoxically helped me, as when the deadlock over potential candidates could not be solved through compromise, I was held up as someone who had no hostilities with any of the main players.”

Li stared at her, brows furrowed in confusion. Donna shuddered to imagine what sorts of things he could have read in the NCIA files.

“In any case,” Theodosius rushed in to say, “I am certain that the true reason of my appointment died with Snow. Like many other things.”

Those “other things” included everything from the systematic abuse of the Victors to whether there had been meaningful communication with other countries to the budget of the president’s many residences. Snow had kept a lot of things in his head, and the Rebellion hadn’t bothered trying to get the priceless information out of him, preferring instead to quickly find him guilty of the Hunger Games and execute him. And what others knew of these things tended to be less detailed, not to mention their reluctance to admit they knew anything at all.

“That sounds very likely,” Li said. “The Rebellion, they were too scared he’d say something bad about them, so they tried to off him quickly.” Given that not a single file folder had been burned and neither had a single hard drive been destroyed, Donna had also wondered if he had intended to twist the information in a way favourable to him. The Rebellion, however, had chosen to focus on the Hunger Games, which nobody had been willing to describe as anything more than a good idea originally that had gone on for seventy-four years too long. Even Snow had found himself unable to give a coherent explanation of why he had chosen to continue them.

“Maybe at the onset,” Donna conceded. “I don’t know about you, but for us, they were willing to tolerate quite a few ‘you too’ arguments, as long as they were phrased in an indirect way. I’m willing to bet that once Coin was gone, the reorganization they had in Thirteen led to priorities changing. They spent hours interrogating me about one-on-one conversations I had had with Snow, trying to figure out anything useful. I remember once, they spent half the day trying to get me to admit I knew about what had happened to the Victors.” That had been one of the most unpleasant interrogations, and there hadn’t been even a tiny kernel of truth in that accusation!

“Of course you didn’t know,” spat Vartha. “None of us knew. Because there was nothing to know. Nothing had been done to the Victors without their consent. Why has nobody been prosecuted otherwise?” Donna cringed, hearing that argument.

Due to the lack of documentary evidence, the case had fallen apart in the early stages of planning. The only accusation to name concrete names and dates had been Finnick Odair’s propo, but the people named simply denied everything, and due to the lack of evidence and Odair’s death preventing him from testifying in person and facing cross-examination, the cases against them had been quickly though reluctantly dismissed. Many other Victors had also stepped up, but they also had no better evidence than their words, and many struggled to remember details and even names due to having been drugged at the time or simply due to many years having passed. “You are aware,” Donna snapped, “that if a rape case comes down to what the victim and perpetrator are claiming, it gets dismissed due to lack of evidence? Surely you do not believe every single one of these defendants is innocent.”

“There’s a difference,” Vartha said, holding up a finger. “For over a year, Victors crawled out of whatever holes they had been hiding in. Not a single one of them managed to win a case against an alleged rapist, even though nearly thirty of them tried to do so. Seems strange to me.” At the end of the fighting it had seemed like only seven Victors were still alive, but as the months went on, over thirty more had come out of hiding. One turned out to have had escaped to Japan, where he was now playing semi-professional baseball.

The former Peacekeepers looked extremely confused, having only heard scattered snippets about the issue. Li, who had mysteriously regained his knowledge of everything after his sentencing, proceeded to explain the situation in detail, starting with the very first Games. Donna turned back to painting the wall, the guard - to her organic chemistry reactions.

“Wait,” Katz asked, “you were given your positions in the same month? I had no idea.”

Donna shrugged. “Not that many opportunities to bring it up.”

“Still,” she insisted. “That’s an amazing coincidence. It’s like there was this connection between you!”

Theodosius stared at her like she was spouting nonsense, which, to be fair, she was. “My wife would disapprove of that phrasing,” he joked. 

“Exactly,” Donna added. “I don’t think my husband would like me to have had ‘connections’ with other people. You do know that he will be very sad if the guard over there lets this conversation get out without the context?”

The guard looked up and made an exaggerated motion of turning a key over her mouth before continuing her battle with aromatic rings.

“Never mind,” Donna said.

Katz watched her contemplatively. “I know that was a joke,” she said, “but how _do_ your spouses deal with the rumours about you in the press? Then and now.”

“Before?” Theodosius asked. “Before, it was rather obvious to her that everything about my private life being written in the tabloids was a lie. Now, she just avoids everything that mentions me, because it’s too stressful for her.” Donna nodded along, agreeing with every word.

Planting her paint roller at her feet, Katz nodded. “What was it like, to have people write about you and reading it?” she asked. “I know my trial was the only thing Nine talked about for the entire time it lasted, but I wasn’t given newspapers.”

“The first time, it was surreal,” Donna said. “I was so angry at a lie they told, I forced them to retract it. That just made everyone else bolder.” She leaned against the unpainted part of the wall, trying to remember how she had reacted to that. “Eventually, I realized that the people I interacted with regularly were aware that it wasn’t true, and the sort of people who believe what the tabloids say don’t really affect my life. I wasn’t someone they wrote about often, though. They knew I was in favour.”

“Same,” Theodosius said. “I was more likely to have issues with a newspaper sensationalizing a speech I made or distorting its meaning. The tabloids had easier targets for their articles. I remember once, though, I was accused of cheating on my wife with my secretary because I was barely home at that point. My wife just joked that I was cheating on her with my job.” Donna chuckled. Dem must have felt that, too. She did not recall gossip mongers ever implying she was cheating on him, but there was nothing they had loved to do more than imply that happy families had dark secrets. Odds were, there had been something of the sort, she had just managed to overlook it.

Katz tried to dip her paint roller into the bucket at the same time as Li, and they got stuck. Li crouched down and pulled his out with one hand while stabilizing the bucket with the other.

“Smooth,” Strata said appreciatively before turning back to the ceiling. Katz pressed her roller against the edges of the bucket to get rid of excess paint. They had just removed the paint from their clothes the previous day, and now they were covered with grey splotches and streaks all over again. As Donna tried to shift the bucket over slightly, her hand came in contact with a patch of wet paint. She tried to rub it off on the paper, but it was mostly futile.

Weiss was arguing with the guard. “Thirty seconds?” she asked incredulously. “I’ll have to run to make it to the cell block gate that fast!”

“Wait, what?” said Li, who was probably the last person to have to worry about this. “But it was two minutes last time!”

The guard did not move a muscle. “The administration deemed letting you out of sight for two minutes is too great a security risk. You have thirty seconds per floor.” Then why had they started stationing guards alone? Surely they weren’t suffering from a shortage. Weiss chose not to argue, though, and dashed up the stairs.

“This is just pointless,” Donna said. “If we could escape in two minutes, we could probably do it in half of one.” Theodosius nodded. “I don’t want to have to sprint just to go to the bathroom,” she added. “At least Rodriguez is working in his cell block already.” The man was approaching eighty-four, and would definitely have been incapable of this running. Would the guards actually discipline anyone who was unable to run up and down a flight of stairs that fast?

The guard looked at her communicuff and resumed her practice problems. Weiss must have reached the gate to the cell block in time and checked in with the guard stationed there. 

“As I was saying,” Theodosius resumed, “by the time of the trial I was more amused than anything by the inaccurate reporting. Of course, it’s very unpleasant to think of people all over the world having a skewed idea of me, but-” He shrugged. “Can’t do anything about it, can I?” He motioned at the corridor with the paint roller. 

“In any case, now that we have no access to the news, it’s paradoxically easier,” Donna said. “I can just pretend that nothing’s happening, even though it’s obvious that it is.” The occasional clandestine letters Livia and Dancer sent often made Donna wish she was actually in a cocoon of nescience. While she hadn’t been mentioned by name often in the past year or so, there was still enough to seriously freak her out. 

Katz nodded. “I can see why that would be the case. Me, though, I hate not knowing what’s going on out there. What people are saying about me. The drips can’t be the full truth.” Was Katz also lying for the benefit of the guard? That was almost certain. But was Katz aware that Donna was lying? She wished she could somehow send a signal, communicate that she knew more than she let on. It was impossible, however. While she could sneak in a piece of news and claim a guard told her, anything more substantial was impossible. The two of them were standing just a metre and a half apart, and yet they were completely cut off from each other and isolated.


	28. Spill

With a loud crash, a bucket turned over. Everyone turned towards the source of noise, cringing. 

“Sorry,” said Stein, righting the bucket. It was too late, though, and a large puddle of grey was soaking through the paper. Stein stepped aside, not letting the paint reach his shoes. Strata did likewise, ineffectually poking at the paint with her roller. The two were hunched over, as if expecting to be struck.

The guard watched the proceedings without batting an eye. “It’s no big deal,” she said. “Nobody comes down here, anyway. Just try to soak up as much as possible.” Having proclaimed that judgement, she went back to her crossword. “Also, what country has Paris as its capital? Six letters.”

Everyone looked at each other. “No idea,” Vartha said, shaking his head. Donna had no idea, either.

“France,” Theodosius said confidently.

“Thank you, Male Fifteen,” said the guard, and pencilled in the answer.

Strata and Stein began to tear off chunks of paper and mop up the spilled paint with them. The paint stuck well to the smooth floors; Donna’s cell floor had a few white spots that would probably take paint remover, which they weren’t allowed, to get rid of. “Wait, that’s Western Europe, right?” Strata asked. “I think I’ve read about it before. It’s total trash.”

Theodosius shook his head. “Western Europe was probably the worst-hit place during the Cataclysm,” he pointed out. “They struggled to rebuild, and their problems just compounded.”

“That’s true,” Strata conceded as she stepped around the paint, “but it’s not a very nice place to live.”

“That it isn’t.” Theodosius crouched down to paint the bottom section of the wall.

“A lake in the southern part of the northern Wilds, four letters,” the guard called out. Nobody had an answer to that. “Female Nine, you spent years in the Wilds, how can you not know this?” she asked in an accusing tone.

“I don’t know anything about the names of lakes,” Donna pointed out. 

Katz stood up and stretched her back. “I don’t know anything about the Wilds at all,” she said as she held the paint roller with her elbows behind her back. “Isn’t there some debate over their representation going on right now?”

“That debate has existed since before the First Rebellion,” Donna explained, turning away from the wall to face the others. They were less than three metres away from each other, only a small section of the walls and ceiling remaining to be painted. “Communities all over the northern part of the continent did not join Panem officially, but since the maps showed the entire continent as being Panem, there were arguments that this meant that the people of the Wilds should have the same rights and responsibilities as everyone else. The Games, of course, put a stop to any of that.” Donna had needed official permission to find out about this. After her promotion to Head Engineer, Snow had permitted her to read a few books from the State Library so that she was aware of the issues she could potentially face as the person overseeing all of on-location construction.

“And now, I’m assuming, the arguments are back,” Stein said. He extended the handle of his paint roller and reached up to paint the ceiling. Drops of paint fell onto the paper. “Now that everyone’s voice is supposed to be heard, and all.”

Donna shrugged. “Most likely. Some of the cities and towns want to join Panem officially, others want to remain how they were, and the nomadic and semi-nomadic groups just want freedom of movement.” Theodosius shot her an odd look before resuming his painting. She had just learned that from a clandestine letter and hadn’t had the opportunity to share the information yet.

“I wish we got newspapers in here,” Li sighed wistfully. “I’ve heard that in normal prisons, there’s even televisions. Wouldn’t it be amazing to find out the news every day?”

The guard looked up from her crossword again. “Who was the mayor of Two during the First Rebellion?”

“Tashen,” the four former Peacekeepers and Li said in unison. Li added, “I probably won’t forget the name until my dying day.”

“Me neither,” said Katz. “Did you have to learn that song about loyal troops marching proudly with Tashen under red-gold banners?” The others shook their heads, looking confused. “They must have phased it out shortly after I was deployed,” the older woman explained. “You were lucky. I can still recite the entire thing in my sleep.”

Li looked like he had dodged a bullet. “Did you also have that blue manual you had to learn by heart?” he asked. “Even today, I could probably tell you what was on page twenty-three.”

“Something about the structure of a garrison in a sparsely populated area?” Katz said, screwing up her face as she tried to recall.

“I have no idea,” said Strata. “I forgot everything the moment after finishing exams.”

“Same,” said Stein, “except I never knew it at all.”

Weiss was scratching her head. “I think that page was specifically about a _dense_ area with a low population, like a small town or the dwellings of workers on a large farm.”

“You remember it in that much detail?” Vartha asked incredulously. 

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” Li said. “Plus, that was the only thing we had to actually learn by heart. All of our other manuals, we barely looked at. I don’t think anyone ever bothered to even glance at our field manual.” That had been the one that permitted Peacekeepers to disobey criminal orders.

Vartha was unconvinced. “Still, how long was that manual?”

“It’s less impressive than you think,” Katz explained. “It was something like two hundred pages long, but we spent seven years studying it at the Academy. We were told that if we just studied it enough, we’d always be able to make the right decision, no matter what the situation.” Katz’ grimace showed what she thought of that reasoning. “Imagine if you had spent seven years in school studying a specific book every day for an hour.”

“I think the ideology classes we were forced into were quite similar, don’t you agree?” Theodosius asked Vartha.

“We were never forced to memorize books by heart,” Vartha pointed out. “What happened if you couldn’t keep up?” he asked Stein. 

“Nothing.” Stein climbed down a step and leaned against the top slightly. “Well, not nothing,” he amended. “It wasn’t as hard as you think. We’d be assigned a certain chapter for a month, or a few months, and write tests based off that. As the years went on, the questions became harder and harder, and since we’d go over the same chapters over and over, it ended up sticking in your mind without you doing any extra work other than your assigned readings.”

Katz cut in. “Remember, the Academy was just like your highschool, but with a few things added and with stranger punishments. The weak students were in one stream, the strong in another. At the end, we had theoretical and practical evaluations that were officially supposed to determine where we would be deployed, but in practice, everyone knew where they were being sent to for months beforehand.”

“Stranger punishments?” Li asked, adjusting one of the sheets of paper lying on the floor. “Understatement. I remember once, one of the cadets was caught allowing another one to cheat off her on a biology exam. She was forced to do the high ropes course with him on her back, with no safety gear, even though he was massive and she was borderline failing the strength evals. The instructor said something like ‘if you want to carry him through everything, go right ahead.’” 

“I heard about that!” Weiss exclaimed. “That at your campus, right? I remember hearing that they both dropped out _after_ doing the ropes course. We younger cadets were all so confused that they gave up after managing it.”

“Same here!” Li said. “Like dropping a difficult course after doing well on a midterm,” he explained to Donna, Theodosius, and Vartha. Donna wasn’t convinced that the analogy applied. When people died because of difficult courses, it was at their own hands.

Katz was shaking her head. “At least there’s logic in that one, even though not allowing harnesses was downright sadistic of them.”

“Wait, what height was the ropes course?” asked Theodosius.

“At its highest?” Weiss said. “Ten metres. And doing it without a harness was the kind of thing you did to really impress someone you were into.” That meant the instructor who had given that order had known that the cadets would likely fall down and die. Given the behaviour of adult Peacekeepers when given unpleasant orders, the odds of teenage future Peacekeepers refusing to do something and thus potentially opening themselves to accusations of cowardice were practically nil.

“As time went on, the instructors became less creative and more sadistic,” Katz said sadly. “It used to be that only the most elite Peacekeepers would be hired as instructors after serving their second tour, but as time went on, the best started to request an additional deployment, and only the dregs were left for the Academies and the programs.”

Strata raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You’re not even fifteen years older than me, how could things have changed that fast?” Katz shrugged. Donna suspected the reason had been something at the Capitol level, but did not say so. The former Peacekeepers resented any mention of politics in conjunction with themselves. Donna mostly respected that, as she also hated it when people tried to explain her actions within a framework of the intrigue in Snow’s inner circle, but they tended to go too far sometimes.

“I don’t think things changed that much,” Li said. “I served with people half my age, and we had some pretty similar stories. You know, forcing hungover cadets to do the worst-smelling chores, sending you to paint rocks if you were lazy, stuff like that.” He chuckled slightly, probably remembering a particularly funny event. Stein nodded along, shaking his head in amusement at the same time. It made him look like he was doing neck rotations.

Glancing at the guard, Strata tensed slightly and resumed painting, though nobody else did. “I remember how once, I got caught sleeping with another cadet. For a week, we had to hold our hands everywhere we went. Do you have any idea of how hard it is to fire a gun when you’ve got your elbow linked with someone else’s, and he’s also trying to fire?” She rubbed at her face with a free hand as the other military people chuckled. 

“I suddenly feel very glad I did not follow my highschool girlfriend into the Peacekeepers,” Theodosius joked. Donna turned to him, surprised. He had never told her about that.

“It was different for the Capitolians,” Katz explained. “Mostly because it was a very condensed program, so if you had energy at the end of the day to do anything other than pass out, the instructors would have simply felt very bad about themselves and increased the intensity of the program.” The three civilians cringed. Even during those worst weeks at university, Donna had always had at least an hour each day to herself, even if it consisted of sitting in the shower and wondering if engineering was really for her, and plus Dem had always been there to cheer her up from second year on.

“I’m feeling even more glad now,” Theodosius said. “And I thought university was bad.”

“It depends,” Li said, sitting down on the top of the ladder. “I know people who washed out from the Academy had a much lower suicide rate than people who dropped or failed out of college in the Capitol. No idea what that could be attributed to, though. Interestingly enough, the rates were even lower for those washed out of the Games Academy.” Every year in Two, a hundred boys and a hundred girls of twelve years of age had been selected after the preliminary evaluations at the Peacekeeper Academies to train for the Hunger Games, and they would be slowly weeded out until one from each gender remained.

“You know the ironic thing?” Katz asked. “More people voluntarily quit the Games Academy than the Peacekeeper one. As soon as that year’s ‘harvest’ turned eighteen, more than half of them would suddenly discover an intense desire to serve Panem in a different way.”

“Why?” Donna asked. As far as she had seen, the Tributes from Two, as well as One and Four, had all been brainwashed to the point where they were willing to consider killing other children with their bare hands as their duty. At the trial, mention had been made of the younger trainees’ frequent reluctance, but the impression she had gotten was quite different. She said that much to Katz, picking her words carefully to not offend her.

“Not quite,” Li said, shaking his head. He looked solemn, almost sorrowful. “Almost nobody wanted to actually go to the Games. No matter how much the boys and girls were kept apart in the Games Academy, everyone still knew everyone, and the thought of you or one of them was horrific, and in any case, anyone with a brain could calculate the odds of survival. Only a tiny handful were willing to go all the way. Stonesmith once told me she made it all the way to eighteen, but the final kill test was too much for her. She couldn’t kill a twelve-year-old child, even a convicted saboteur.” Donna struggled to imagine a twelve-year-old committing sabotage. She had thought during the trial that now she knew all the atrocities of the Games regime, but she still learned increasingly horrible things every day. “Of course, she didn’t say that, that would have gotten her dishonourably discharged. Instead, she said something about preferring a lifetime of service to a week of sacrifice. Ironic, isn’t it?” Li asked, wiping at his face. “Stonesmith, refusing to kill a child? But she was just a child herself, then.”

“We all were,” Katz said, staring off into space. “I knew a few people who used the same phrasing to transfer to our Academy. It was the one thing the Capitol didn’t kick up a fuss over. They wanted only the most ruthless and one hundred percent dedicated. If someone wasn’t willing to give up their life right now this instant, don’t force them.” Her voice took on a caustic tone. “Would have ruined their Games, wouldn’t it have? If a tribute from Two was anything but death on two legs. Everyone knew that entire spiel about the most honourable sacrifice was total bullshit. It was the entire District performing a sacrifice, taking an eighteen-year-old brainwashed killer and sending them in in place of a twelve-year-old to kill other twelve-year-olds. But hey, at least lower-class children in Two could take out as many tesserae as they wanted without worrying about the Reapings!” Katz was practically shouting by now, and the guard, who had walked halfway across the corridor to better hear the conversation, was staring at her open-mouthed.

“Female Seven?” the guard from Eleven asked softly. Katz turned around, taking off her cap and snapping to attention. “At ease.” Katz adopted a slightly more relaxed stance. “I lost a friend of mine in the Seventieth Games. The boy from Two killed her. I don’t blame him, though, or your District, not anymore. The decision was the best one you could have made under the circumstances, and I am only angry at the country’s leaders of those years that my District wasn’t allowed to make a similar one.” Katz looked like she didn’t know how to react. Donna hoped that the reference to the country’s leaders wasn’t supposed to be an insult to her. 

It was always difficult when the former Peacekeepers talked about the Games. All of them except Best had been raised in Two (though a few suspected they had been kidnapped from outer District Community Homes at very young ages) and thus had a District opinion on the Games, which made Donna feel very uncomfortable about her role in them. She had never directly influenced the Games in any way, shape, or form, but she had still worked to make them a reality. Did Katz and the rest of them hate her for that? The idea of anyone holding a secret grudge in the Supermax’s tiny collective seemed absurd, but then again, the others were being friendly with Li, as if they did not talk about him in withering terms on the rare occasions when he was definitely out of earshot.

A silence ensued, and everyone turned back to their painting. Donna collapsed the paint roller handle and crouched down to paint the very bottom of the wall as Theodosius braced his knees against the top of the ladder, both hands holding the roller. Strata tore off a piece of paper to wipe off her shoe, but when the guard’s attention was focused wholly on her crossword, she put it in her pocket. Was it for writing or for another of the former Peacekeepers? One way or another, Donna would probably find out at some point. She turned back to the wall, shifting over half a step and extending the paint roller handle.

* * *

The two groups finished painting at the exact same time, which made sense given how much they had tried to work at the same rate for that last metre. The stripe of old paint in the middle shrank steadily until it was narrow enough to be painted with one sweep. Vartha swept his roller up and down the wall, making the entire thing a uniform grey.

“We’re done,” he said.

“So are we,” said Katz from the other side. The eight turned towards the guard, waiting for her to tell them what to do next.

“Carry everything to the second floor,” the guard said, “and report to your gym.”

Donna volunteered to do the washing as usual, as dealing with the paper would have been too frustrating. The guard would be watching, making it impossible to sneak some. She gathered the rollers, taking off the painting surface and cringing at the feel of cold paint under her fingers. They went into a bucket she picked up with one hand, and half of the handles went under one arm. Theodosius took the other half, as well as a can of paint. The other cans and buckets were spread out evenly, Li looking almost disappointed at the two measly cans he was carrying.

On the second floor, Donna dumped the rollers into the sink and turned on the water, which was, of course, freezing at the beginning and slowly turned to scalding hot. She and Theodosius squeezed the rollers, watching diluted paint pour out from between their fingers for the last time.

“Satisfying, isn’t it?” she asked. 

In response, Theodosius held a roller under the steaming water, one end awkwardly clutched in his hand and one - under the stream, watching the water go from dark grey to light grey to transparent.

Donna picked up a bar of soap and rubbed it on a roller, feeling the soft material become slippery. It remained slightly tinged with grey, though, no matter how hard she tried. She rinsed the roller and placed it on a shelf beside her, and picked up another one, which had been partially cleaned by the water in the sink already.

Carefully adjusting the tap, Theodosius managed to make the water downright cool. “Nice job,” Donna said, shoving her hands under the stream. “Much easier this way.”

The buckets were much easier to clean. They simply poured out the unused paint, peeled off the bit at the top that had dried, and easily washed off the rest with a hose. As they struggled to adjust the water pressure, Kremser came in, followed shortly afterward by Verdant. 

“You’re done, too?” the former Gamemaker assistant asked, dumping another bucketful of paint rollers into the sink. Her hands were almost completely grey, and paint had also stained the sides of her cap and face, temporarily adding some colour back to her snow-white hair.

Donna laid out the rollers in an orderly row in the sink. “We’re just finishing up the washing,” she said. “You can have the sink, we’re cleaning the buckets now.” Verdant decided not to try to cram himself into the tiny closet, preferring instead to hover outside. He was leaning just the slightest bit on the paint roller handles in his left hand.

“We’re done with that, then,” he said. “It’s back to the blankets, now.” He sounded disappointed.

“And the sweaters,” Donna said as she rinsed off her hands.

Theodosius noticed the way Verdant was standing. “Is your leg alright?” he asked.

“Perfectly fine,” Verdant replied icily, blue eyes flashing. The other three eyed him sceptically. “Same as always,” he amended after a moment’s pause. “Too much standing, probably.”

Kremser looked around the closet. “You could sit down on a bucket, maybe?” she said as she pointed to an upside-down bucket. Verdant continued to look icily at her. Donna was fairly sure that if he tried to sit on that upside-down bucket, he’d need help to get back up, paint roller handles or no roller handles.

“No thank you, Mrs. Kremser,” he said. “I’ll just go back down.” He handed the paint roller handles to her and limped down the corridor towards the two guards standing at the locked cell block gate. The administration had given up very quickly on giving them an impossibly short amount of time in which to go from floor to floor, instead posting guards at each stairway landing.

Not bothering to look for a cloth, Donna dried her hands on her shirt. “Will you be alright cleaning the rest of this on your own?” she asked.

“Of course,” Kremser said. “You go ahead.” Donna and Theodosius nodded to her in farewell and stepped into the corridor, where eight inmates were still painting. They only had less than a metre’s width of wall left, so it was looking like they, too, would be finished today.

At the gate, one of the guards unlocked it for them. They went down the stairs, passing two more guards who started and took earbuds out of their ears. As Donna walked past them, she could hear very faint music.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to hear music again?” she asked Theodosius wistfully. “As long as it wasn’t blasted at six in the morning.” Every so often, the most experienced guards must have felt nostalgic for their days guarding in jail, as they would turn on extremely strange music at odd hours.

“You forgot Smith’s singing,” Theodosius pointed out.

“No, I blocked it out from memory,” Donna answered in a deadpan voice.

* * *

Carefully sticking the yarn needle in, Donna wove in the ends of her sweater. She tried to use the small length of yarn to cover up the small but noticeable gaps at the places where the sleeves were sewn on, to no avail. It just made the gaps bigger. Donna snipped off a section of the yarn with a pair of extremely dull scissors and laid out the shoulder of the sweater in her hand.

Not too bad. Definitely her best attempt so far. Donna stood up and approached the warden, who was crocheting a flower out of yarn thinner than Donna had thought possible. The man from Eight didn’t notice her, so she had to stand there for a while, cap in one hand and crochet things in another, until another guard pointed her out to him.

“Oh, sorry, Female Nine,” he said, putting down his project. “Are you done?” Donna nodded. “Hand it over.” Donna gave him the scissors, which went into a case, the yarn trimmings, which went into a large paper bag, and the sweater, which he studied intensely.

“Better. Make your next one in the same size.” With that, he put the sweater on the bench next to him and went back to his flower. His hook looked impossibly tiny in his large hands. How did he even see where the stitches were? The thread was so fine, it was almost invisible from Donna’s vantage point. He looked up again, confused to see her still there. “Are you looking at my flower?” he asked, holding it up. It was almost impossibly delicate, with multicoloured petals whose colours looked like they had been painted on.

“It’s beautiful,” Donna sighed, studying the tiny crochet piece. So small, and yet so detailed. “Are you making jewelry?” she asked.

The warden shrugged. “I just wanted to make something beautiful,” he said, staring at the flower. Donna nodded and hurried back to her bench.

“What was that?” Theodosius asked. “He was holding something up.”

“He’s making a really tiny flower,” she explained. “The hook looks more like a needle than an actual hook, and the yarn looks more like sewing thread.”

“Embroidery floss,” Li corrected her. “He’s probably using embroidery floss.” He sighed wistfully, looking at the warden. “You can make the tiniest things out of it, it’s very fun. Challenging, of course, but very, very rewarding.”

“That sounds difficult,” Stein said.

Li launched into a monologue about micro-crochet as Donna started to make the starting chain for her next sweater. She counted out loud in a whisper, not letting herself focus on the words being said around her. Losing track and needing to re-count was terrible. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two...forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. That was the first panel started. Donna chained one and made the turning stitch. Now, the actual crocheting could begin. She tuned back into the conversation around her.

“So do you think the verdicts will be harsh or not?” Katz asked. How had they managed to go from crochet to the District Affairs trial in this short span of time? “You haven’t even said what you think.”

“I don’t know,” Theodosius said, sounding exhausted. “Look, I know some of these people. I worked with them. I don’t want to think about them possibly being executed _next week_ , and I don’t want to get my hopes up, either.” The verdicts were being read at that moment, and the sentences would be passed the next day. Donna wondered if any of them would get any sleep that night.

“You should have said so earlier,” Katz said. “Now I feel bad for pressuring you. I don’t know how I managed to forget you were one of them. You too,” she said, noticing Donna was looking up at her. “At least we’ll find out if anyone’s being acquitted today.”

“I doubt that,” Donna said. “I think they’ll just dump it all on us tomorrow evening.”

Stein disagreed. “I’m sure someone will tell us something.”

* * *

Donna, unfortunately, ended up being right. It was evening the very next day, in the dinner queue, when the inmates were able to finally find out anything. One of the guards read the sentences from her communicuff as the thirty-one women crowded around, anxious to hear the results even if they had never heard any of the names before the trial had begun. 

Four were acquitted, twelve - given prison terms from one and a half to twenty years, seven - life imprisonment, and two - death by the rope. Donna had never worked with either of the ones now slated to die, but it still felt strange. In a week or so, they would stop breathing. For some reason, Donna felt as if she had dodged a bullet. The guard added that one of the prison terms was rumoured to be caused by some sort of mitigating circumstances and that the now-convict’s continued existence was controversial.

Back in her cell, Donna ate her oatmeal with canned fruits and drank her tepid tea as she tried to work out what she was feeling. She struggled to focus on her reading that evening, but forced herself to keep it up, reluctant to draw any kind of attention by changing her routine. As soon as she could, she went for her book of number puzzles and took out one of the pieces of paper. It was stained with paint, but now that it was dry, it could be written on.

Dr. Chu was certainly going to ask about this next session, so Donna tried to come up with the answers now. Was she envious of the acquitted? Absolutely. Anxious because the capital punishment announced reminded her of expecting to receive the same? That much was also obvious. Anxious because of the mention of mitigating circumstances? Probably. Dr. Fischer had told her to deny all accusations and emphasize that she had always sought to treat the workers under her command well, and Donna had followed that instruction partially.

But why was she anxious, then? Then and now, the court had taken into consideration mitigating circumstances. Nothing strange or unpredictable about that, though back then, she had still expected death. Maybe that was it, then. Maybe it also brought her back to those days when she had resigned herself to the end.

Realizing that didn’t make the anxiety go away, but that was what the extra-difficult sudokus were for. Donna hid her diary entry, already looking forward to Dr. Chu’s visit. Hopefully the psychologist would be happy to not have to explain everything. As Donna penned in tiny numbers in the corners, she continued to contemplate the topic. A shame none of them would be joining her in the Supermax. Some new faces among the inmates would be nice. Being deprived of even that was probably the thing that worried Donna the most about the dissolution of the IDC.


	29. Hybrid

“That’s a seedling?” Donna asked sceptically. “Looks more like a branch to me.” 

Theodosius looked at the small sticks in his hands, each one roughly ten centimetres long. “The buds that the leaves grow from will sprout roots-” he began to explain, before Donna cut him off.

“I know how the process works,” she said, taking one of the seedlings from him. “It’s just unbelievable.” That a section of a twig could grow roots seemed impossible at first glance.

They were standing in a small, empty patch and trying to ignore the chilly breeze. Next to them, Rodriguez and Kadka were discussing Holder and the other Smith was helping several guards with a crossword. 

“You did notice what he said, right?” Rodriguez asked weakly. Though only a few years older than the second-oldest inmate, the man who had once been Publicity Chief of the Training Centre looked much, much worse. His face was so deeply lined, his eyes looked like pinpricks of darkness at the end of a tunnel.

Kadka, formerly Head of Outreach of the Training Centre, was nearly a decade younger but still showing signs of age. “I try not to,” he said. “Makes me want to weep.”

“But you did hear him, right?”

“I’d have to be as deaf as West to not be able to hear him,” Kadka muttered. “I’m not quite there yet.” The administration was in the process of arguing over what sort of hearing aids he should be allowed and at what time of day. For now, though, he was forced to sit practically cheek-by-jowl with Rodriguez, who couldn’t speak any louder than a croak.

“The guards must be, though,” Rodriguez said. “How can they listen to this and do nothing? This is a disgrace.” What were they even talking about? Theodosius hadn’t mentioned Holder saying anything particularly strange that morning. 

“What’s going on?” she asked him.

“Business as usual,” Theodosius said as he crouched down to plant the seedlings. Donna crouched down beside him, sticking the seedling she was holding halfway into the dirt. “There was a new warden from Eleven, and he’s from the same region as the one Holder served in.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Donna could imagine Holder asking the warden after various places and people as if he hadn’t been terror incarnate for the new man just a few years ago. “How did the warden react?” The guards were split on Holder, some treating him like an inpatient at a mental hospital while others, mostly Thirteen, were as lax or strict with him as with everyone else.

“Looked like he was going to explode for a few seconds, then said he wasn’t going to be offended by the words of someone with delays in development. Then Holder became offended, said something nobody could hear, and marched off to his cell. I was afraid he’d throw something.”

Donna cringed. “Ouch.”

“‘Ouch’ is the word,” Theodosius agreed, looking at the seedlings. They were planted at even intervals. In a year or two’s time, they would be replanted, and after another year, the blackcurrant-gooseberry bushes would start producing berries. Donna had tried blackcurrants and gooseberries a few times before, but never a hybrid. “This morning, one of my book requests got rejected.”

“Why?” When they tried to request specific books, they would often be rejected due to containing forbidden topics. It was much easier to request something on a certain topic, and then have someone go through the public library catalogue and pick out something at random. Otherwise, there were so many forbidden topics, trying to pick out something on history was nearly impossible.

“That’s the strange thing,” Theodosius said. “I asked for _something_ about the aftermaths of wars before the Cataclysm. Forbidden topic, apparently.”

How could events that had happened centuries ago be a forbidden topic? There had been no Games back then. What was the administration so worried about? “Are you going to try again?” she asked. “Also, we need to water this.”

“I guess I’ll be vaguer next time and see how far I can push them. Do you want to ask Holder what he said to the warden while we get the hose?”

That would mean taking a long hook around the yard. “Of course,” Donna said. “Let’s go.” They stood up and walked in the direction of Holder, who was planting radishes. 

“Hello,” he said, standing up. “Are you here to ask me about the altercation this morning?” he asked matter-of-factly. Donna and Theodosius nodded.

Holder fidgeted with the packet of seeds, twisting it in his hands. “I know I messed up there. I shouldn’t talk to District people about the past unless they initiate the conversation.”

“What did you say to him?” Donna asked.

“Nothing,” Holder said, sounding taken aback. “Nothing.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “He said I have delays in development. They all think that! Even the psychiatrists always tell me that, as if I was just a bit slow as a child or something!” He was stuttering now, shaking from either fury or anxiety, Donna wasn’t sure which. “But I’m _fifty-five_! This hovercraft isn’t _delayed_ , it’s _never taking off_! How hard is that to understand?” He was staring right between them, hands clenching at the packet of radish seeds.

“Oh,” Theodosius said. “Are you...alright?”

Holder looked utterly confused by the question. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Donna asked, wishing there was an easy way to extricate herself from the conversation.

“I just did,” Holder said, furrowing his brows. “Look, I just want to be alone. Alright?”

Donna and Theodosius nodded and beat a hasty retreat. “I never thought of it that way,” Theodosius said, glancing back at Holder as they walked away from him. “I wonder what it’s like to have a mind like that - but then again, do you think he wonders what it’s like to have a normal mind?” Donna shrugged. Usually she was quite good at figuring out what others were thinking, but not in situations like this.

At the taps, a more productive conversation was going on. A political debate raged among the sinks and hoses lying scattered everywhere. “I don’t understand how anyone can trust any of them,” Longview was saying as he squatted next to a sink to rinse out a cloth. “What’s the point of making promises if everyone knows they won’t be kept?” 

“I think that’s precisely the point,” Li retorted as he coiled a hose neatly. “You have to look at it as not something they promise to do, but something they promise to try to do. It’s obvious that Congress won’t stand for half of the stuff any of them are proposing, but with a bit of compromise, a key element or two will still be put into policy.”

Longview leaned against the pipe. “Then why talk like they will make things a certain way the second they take office?”

“For the benefit of the electorate. Nobody will vote for someone who says ‘I’ll try to do this thing, but we’ll see how it goes’. They go for someone who says ‘I will do this thing you want’.”

But then wouldn’t the electorate be upset that their elected officials weren’t doing what they had promised to do? Donna asked that much, and Li had an answer. “They are,” he said with a shrug.

Donna could see why many in the Capitol longed for the return of a strong leader who didn’t have to mess around with campaign promises and compromise.

“So why promise so much,” she asked, “if you know you’ll just disappoint the electorate, who won’t vote for you next time?” Donna felt like she was missing something obvious, which stung painfully. What was there that she just wasn’t understanding?

“As far as I can tell,” Li explained, “everyone knows campaign promises don’t matter.”

“Except here,” Donna pointed out. “You think the people out there understand any more than we do? They’ll feel betrayed when all their demands aren’t met.” Paylor had been elected less because of what she was, and more because of what she wasn’t. Now that she was up for re-election, though, these things would start to matter.

Li shrugged. “Then, the next time elections roll around, people will vote for someone else. Democracies are fragile, you know, especially new ones. I was just reading about this one time before the Cataclysm when the majority voted for anti-democratic parties-”

Theodosius cut in. “Please, don’t. Aren’t there more uplifting examples?”

“But you still do not understand!” Li said desperately. “You think it makes sense to me? I grew up being told to obey unquestioningly! Whenever I read about all this complicated give-and-take, it makes my brain hurt. There was an interesting quote in one of my books. Someone called democracy the worst system possible, except for all the other ones.”

“Huh,” Longview said. “That’s a good one. Anything’s got to be better than what we had.”

Li did not stop to consider that. “And the thing is - it doesn’t really matter as much as you think who wins the presidency in the end. The Congresspeople will still do what they think necessary. The majority party doesn’t just do what it wants, not even if they have an absolute majority. The line going down isn’t just something the president wants.” He looked around and pointed at the patch of seedlings Donna and Theodosius had just planted. “There’s your democracy.”

At that revelation, Blackstone, who had been standing nearby and complaining about her hot flashes to a sympathetic Grass, looked at Li, than at the seedlings, then back at Li with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Longview asked.

“It’s a hybrid just starting to grow. Artificially created for a purpose, it will bear sweet berries if given the proper care and support.”

That was a very poetic way to put it. Donna decided to write it down that evening and send it to her family. 

“That’s a beautiful way to phrase it, Mr. Li,” Grass said. 

Li turned slightly red. “Um, thank you. It’s something I figured out when I saw the seedlings.”

Blackstone turned back to Grass. “I just want it to end already!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve lost count of how long I’ve been bleeding for, at this point.”

“Ouch,” said Li. “When is it going to stop?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be so upset over it! It’s like the ibuprofen stopped working.”

Grass shook her head. “You might just be suffering from mood swings.”

Blackstone took off her cap, fanning herself with it. Despite being not quite fifty, she had a deeply wrinkled face. “Great,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t think the dispensary has anything against mood swings.”

“Don’t they have a whole bunch of psychiatric medication?” Donna pointed out. “You should ask.” While some of the women continued to receive the annual injection, only those who had gotten them for medical reasons. Citing a reluctance to mess with anyone’s hormones unless absolutely necessary, the administration sacrificed comfort and convenience instead. How much less of a hassle would it have been to force all of the women to get injections? “I just wondered,” she said, “how much money do you think the administration has to spend on pads?”

“How many people even need them?” Theodosius asked. “Not any of the military personnel. Absolutely no idea about the civilians, I’d say maybe three-quarters of the women. Less than half of you for now,” he said as he gestured to Donna, Blackstone, and Grass, “but the number is going to shrink rapidly.” Donna was the youngest woman inmate at forty, and the next youngest was Kim, who was forty-four. The bulk were well into their fifties.

Li looked to be deep in thought. “Huh,” he said.

At that moment, several others approached them. West and Mitman were signing to each other too fast for anyone to understand, but Katz made up for it. “Did you hear about the rumours of rearmament?” she asked combatively.

“Nothing since last week,” Grass asked, getting off the ground. Everyone had heard those rumours, and an update was very welcome. “Do you have news?” Theodosius slunk off in the direction of the nearest guard.

Katz relaxed slightly. “A guard told me they’re considering it more seriously.” 

Now if only they could have been more specific. “Did they give you more details?” Li asked. Almost from the onset there had been a desire on the part of the Rebellion soldiers to demobilize, but many were still stuck in policing jobs they did not want. While the Districts had long since set up civilian police forces that were distinct from their militaries, the state armed forces were still keeping the peace in the Capitol, and anyone who had worn the white was banned from them unconditionally, unless they could prove Rebel activity in court. 

“No,” Katz said in an irritated tone. “I asked how it will affect us, and she just shrugged.”

“I doubt it will affect us at all,” Donna said. “I’m certain that they’ll stress not having any connection to the past.”

“That is utterly absurd!” Katz declared. “It will still be the same soldiers and officers in many cases. How can you have an army potentially march off to war when its old leaders are in prison? Two won’t stand for it!”

Donna had her own opinions on what Two would and wouldn’t stand for, but decided not to express them. West, however, did. She signed at Mitman at a machine-gun pace, and the older man struggled to keep pace as he translated.

“Do you think Two will refuse?” he said. “I, personally, think they have to do something. They can’t go on having MP’s patrol the Capitol, demobilization will have to occur at some point.” West nodded emphatically as he spoke.

“Of course it will,” Katz said. “And now that it will, it is obvious they’re moving towards an amnesty. It’s not practical to investigate every single person who volunteers, they’ll have to start overlooking whole categories of so-called offenses. I’m sure that in a few years, we’ll be able to get together and laugh about all of this.”

Katz was correct, but she wasn’t mentioning the fact that they could simply apply a double standard. Paylor herself had insisted that the nation’s wounds needed to be cleaned before they could heal, which made Donna highly sceptical of claims that the Supermaxers would be amnestied. It was much more likely that everyone already convicted would remain where they were, but no new cases would be opened. Donna didn’t say that, though, not when all of the former Peacekeepers, except Holder, thought the same as the burly former Head of Nine. To them, the vague and ill-formed plans of reopening general enlistment for the police and army were as good as an amnesty. 

“If we do ever all get out,” Li said, staring at a guard tower, “we will not get together, and we certainly won’t laugh about the Supermax.”

“I think it’s too early to speculate,” Theodosius said. He had just come back from talking to the guard. “A guard just told me that at the ministers’ trial, someone officially announced that the passage of time won’t make for a softer verdict.”

“Right,” Katz said sceptically. “And who was this ‘someone’?”

Theodosius shrugged. “The guard didn’t say.”

“Still,” Katz insisted, “there’s a difference between the criminals and the ordinary Peacekeepers. They’ll have to stop being so harsh eventually, there simply aren’t enough experienced officers in the current army.” That was true, but they were clearly managing. “Did the guard say anything else?”

“No,” Theodosius said, grimacing, “unless you count the fact that he apparently went out for coffee once with the Youngs.” Donna cringed slightly at the name of the executioners.

“What did they say?” Blackstone asked warily.

“Apparently they are planning to switch to another job as soon as the trials are done.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine what their applications will look like.”

Li laughed out loud at that. “You know, we always used to joke about that if someone got badly hurt. We’d pretend to wonder what they should write down in their resume - the official squad name, or the unofficial one.”

“And what did you decide?” Katz asked.

“Official,” Li said with a smile. “Otherwise, if they were in favour, the employer would have assumed this was a threat and went to Snow, and if they weren’t, they would have assumed it was a threat and ran for it! Either way, no job.”

“In any case,” Longview said in a strained tone, “do you think the trials and rearmament are mutually exclusive? I think Two will take the bait, unfortunately. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, I understand it, but to treat one’s superiors like they did?” He nodded to Katz, the only former Head Peacekeeper who had served immediately before the Rebellion and still lived. “The people of Two just aren’t how they used to be.”

“You don’t have to tell me that!” Katz replied. “I respect the soldiers of the Rebellion like any other soldiers, of course, but they way they split the community apart is horrible.” The vast majority of former Peacekeepers had moved to Two, even those who had grown up in the Capitol, and rumour had it that while the District government wasn’t interested in punishing any but the worst offenders, there were constant minor conflicts. While all of these people had finished highschool in the Academy or been educated in the Capitol, they had also spent years and sometimes decades doing nothing but serving, and many struggled to fit into civilian life despite having useful skills.

Grass had different concerns. “There’s certainly no way they can keep you military people in here once they permit former Peacekeepers to re-enlist.” Technically, re-enlistment was already possible, but Donna got the point. “And if they’re not going to investigate every single applicant, even though they could have been responsible for who knows what, there will be no justification for arbitrarily continuing to punish others who merely happened to get caught early. Either nobody is punished, or everyone is. The Rebellion won’t be able to strike a balance.”

“I just noticed,” Donna said, “that we still call it ‘the Rebellion’, even though they won.” 

“Seriously?” Grass asked. She looked thoughtful.

“I noticed that, too,” said Li. “I think we refer to it as ‘the new regime’ from time to time, but it’s mostly ‘the Rebellion’, which, in my opinion, is a strange thing to call a stable government.”

“Have it your way, Mr. Li,” Katz said with an indulgent smile. “’The new regime’ it is.” Donna was about to point out that calling it that forever would also be strange, but caught herself in time. Despite Katz’ hopes, Donna was quite certain that it didn’t matter one jot what she or Li or Grass thought or said about anything. They could say whatever they wanted, and nobody would ever find out. Li was right. Even those like her or Theodosius or Longview would probably never speak of what had happened behind the walls of the Supermax.

The voice of Theodosius snapped her back to reality. “What are you thinking of?” he asked.

“Nothing important,” she said, startled. “Just the letter my husband sent yesterday.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Theodosius said with a slight smirk. “I did notice you looked to be thousands of kilometres away. Must have been just a hundred or so, then.” The former Peacekeepers laughed at that. Even Grass smiled.

“How are your children?” she asked.

“Doing well. My youngest is a voracious reader now. How are yours?”

“Our eldest just went on a business trip with his wife, so they left their three-year-old with my wife for a few days. The problem is, we adopted all of ours when they were much older! Natalia didn’t tell me, but I’m sure it was an interesting four days.”

“Yeah, they’re a handful at that age,” Theodosius said ruefully. “You’re lucky you got to skip that part. You also missed the part where they’re actually cute, though.”

“You win some, you lose some,” Donna summed up his words. Although, hadn’t she also missed the vast majority of her children’s lives, always in the office or on location? 

Grass nodded. “That’s a good way to look at it,” she said. “Both ways have their ups and downs. Although I must say, Mrs. Blues, that I could never give birth five times.”

“It’s not that hard,” Donna said with a shrug. “A very unpleasant experience, but you get a cute baby at the end, so you don’t mind going through the process again. I had very easy pregnancies, though. My coworkers often said they envied me.” 

“Lucky for you you lived in the Capitol,” Li pointed out. “Back in Two, poor women couldn’t afford any kind of prenatal healthcare or professional help during childbirth or anything at all. I was shocked when I found out that in the Capitol, women never die in childbirth, not even the poorest ones.” He stared at the ground, twisting his hands. “To be completely honest, I thought of the Capitol mothers as lesser in some way because of that, as if the fact that they didn’t have to suffer to have children meant they weren’t real mothers in some way. Stupid, of course. A woman shouldn’t have to risk her life to have a child, that’s completely absurd. I was also shocked to find out that well-off families where both spouses worked tended to have something like four children. That’s not something we had in Two, either.” The former Peacekeepers nodded.

“That’s because it was an entire thing,” Theodosius pointed out. “All that propaganda about why we needed to have more kids wouldn’t have worked if pregnancy and childbirth was a dangerous process. Remember, Snow’s very approach to the Capitol and the Districts were different.” In the Districts, contraception and abortion had been strictly prohibited, despite the fact that this had forced women to give birth even if it put their lives at risk. People had managed to find ways around the prohibitions, of course, but finding out that pregnancy and childbirth had been a life-threatening process in the Districts had shocked Donna deeply during the trial. Perhaps that was because this was one of the few things mentioned that she had actually had experience with.

Li shifted from foot to foot. “I need to keep that in mind,” he said. “I saw the external things, the visible ones, not the undercurrents. Children were a status symbol for you, weren’t they?”

Struggling to hide her extreme irritation, Donna didn’t answer. “I suppose that is one way to put it, yes,” Theodosius said, cringing. He, too, did not appreciate the implication that his children were just a status symbol for him.

“Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Grass said. “As Mr. Coll said, that is a reasonable conclusion for an outsider such as you to make.” The richer people tended to have many children because they were able to afford them, as did a small minority of the poor, who did it to pretend that they weren’t as badly off as it seemed. Generally, however, the amount of children rose with the income.

Shaking his head, Li sat down on an upside-down bucket. “Still, I lived for so many years in the Capitol, and I’m still finding out completely obvious things about it!”

“Don’t worry,” Grass said, leaning towards him slightly. “We know nothing about Two, after all.”

“But you never lived in Two,” Li pointed out. “I lived in both, and I don’t understand both.” He sagged, dropping his face into his hands. “I feel like one of Cotillion’s abominations. Like a hybrid with the worst of two worlds.”

Longview crouched down next to him. “That’s not true,” he said consolingly. “You understand it well enough to explain it all to us. Not like the civvies,” he joked. “They go about it the wrong way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Longview,” Donna said sarcastically. Suddenly, she remembered that the seedlings still hadn’t been watered. “Could you please pass me that hose?” she asked, gesturing to the coil that lay by his feet.

“Here you go.” 

Watering the seedlings was a quick job, but Theodosius still followed her towards the patch, hose unwinding behind them. Donna gestured to the group to open the taps, and cold water poured out of the hose. Theodosius put a bare foot over a tiny hole in the hose from which a thin but powerful trickle of water was spurting “It’ll be interesting to see what grows from this,” Donna said contemplatively, putting her thumb over part of the hose to increase the water pressure and have the stream go farther.

“Almost makes me hope that Katz is wrong and they don’t release us,” Theodosius joked.

Donna chuckled, even though rumours of release were nothing to laugh at. “Shh,” she said, putting the forefinger of her free hand over her mouth. “The administration might hear!”

“But that would require them to actually do what we want,” Theodosius pointed out. He gestured at Longview to turn off the tap, and the stream of water turned to a trickle which quickly stopped.

They walked back, Donna coiling the hose as she went. Her hands became wet and dirty from the hose, and she washed them off in one of the sinks as she listened to and watched the group discussing the weather. West was complaining about the temperature, and Katz was trying to convince her that it was borderline hot, which it most definitely was not. Donna tried to follow the conversation and wash her hands at the same time, the result being her trying to find the soap without looking, as her eyes were glued to the conversation. She ran her hands over the inside of the sink, trying to find it.

Her left hand finally found the slippery bar. Donna quickly washed her hands and dried them off on her undershirt. Then, she and Theodosius rejoined the conversation, on the lookout for guards ready to give them more things to do. The two of them had spent the last few days lugging heavy sacks all over the place, and were ready for a lighter day.

Despite the protestations of West and Katz, the day was actually quite nice. It was pleasantly cool and overcast, and while the wind made the bare soles of her feet, wet from the ground, feel cold, it was the better alternative to staying in shoes. It wasn’t so warm that she was irritated by being unable to roll up her trouser legs higher, but still warm enough that exposing skin felt pleasant.

The conversation switched to spoken language. “I’d say it’s nice and cool,” Mitman said. West glared at him with mock irritation and made an incomprehensible sound, adding with her hands something Donna couldn’t catch. Mitman repeated his words in sign language.

“If it was sunny, it would have been better,” West signed.

“If it was sunny, it would have been hot,” Katz pointed out, shaking her head in an exaggerated motion.

Theodosius butted into the conversation. “I’m not looking forward to summer,” he said out loud, drawing the attention of everyone except West. “If this is hot, then we’ll boil to death in a few months.”

In spring, it was hard to imagine summer’s heat, and in the fall, it was impossible to imagine just how cold it would get.

“It’s not hot yet,” Katz pointed out. “It’s very warm, though.”

“It is not even close to warm,” said Longview, who had spent years in Eleven. “I would say that it is cool.”

“We can all agree that it is overcast, though,” Grass chimed in. Her quiet voice cut effortlessly through the conversation. “At least, I hope we can.”

Li leaned against the wall. “That’s why we’re not talking about the clouds,” he said. “If we all agree, it’s not much of a conversation, is it?”

Longview took up the challenge. “Do you think it will rain soon?” he asked, pointing into the distance, where the clouds did appear to be darker.

Glancing at the clouds, Katz shook her head. “No,” she said, “even though it’s long past time we had some rain. Those aren’t rainclouds.”

“But what if they become rainclouds?” Blackstone asked.

“That’s not something I can predict. Ask the guard for the weather forecast.”

* * *

Back in her cell, Donna reread the note Livia and Dancer had sent her. It contained a brief description of what people in the Capitol thought about the upcoming elections. As always, they had completely misinterpreted her words, assuming she knew more than she actually did. Donna had no idea what the names of any of the candidates were, other than Paylor, and she only knew what sort of issues were being discussed in society from the guards.

Apparently, the Capitol was deadlocked on the issue of restitution, which was the most contended issue in speeches and debates. They had managed to elect a mayor with strong Rebellion credentials under the intense emotions of the time, but now they were mostly concerned with moving on and letting the past be the past. Some town councillor, left unnamed in the letter, made a very strong appeal for continuing restitution. What the rest of the town hall, and, indeed, the Capitol government thought was left without comment, though Livia had at least mentioned that there were bitter debates raging everywhere, from the newspapers to social media. Only a small minority were so keyed up, though, most didn’t even want to think about politics.

What the Districts thought of all this was also left unclear, so Donna took out her diary entry and added a quick note, asking them to explain the situation there. The guards tended to be less willing to talk about the Districts than about the Capitol, which made it even harder to find out what was going on there. Livia had, however, described the situation with the people of the Wilds, for which Donna was grateful. They would be allowed to vote in the national elections, and they would also be allowed the same amount of representatives at the national level as everybody else, though they would not have an equivalent of District-level government. It looked like a very elegant solution. How many hours of arguing had gone into it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackcurrant-gooseberry is an actual hybrid. My grandparents have some at their cottage.


	30. No Contact

“Happy birthday!” Donna said, drinking in every detail of her husband’s appearance with her eyes. His hair was a little bit greyer than last year, but other than that, Dem looked just like he had the previous year.

Dem smiled softly. Donna’s own smile was making her cheeks hurt. She tried to relax her face, but as soon as she looked at Dem, the grin was back. It was hard to believe she had spent the past two weeks in a state of mild depression and near-constant anxiety. She was finally talking face-to-face with her husband!

“Thanks,” he said. “We’re actually having the party today. Shame you can’t be there, of course.” Dem glanced at the guards. “Little Donna’s fifteen now. Can you believe it?”

“Absolutely not,” Donna said with more emotion than she had intended. “Octavius is five! The last I saw him, he was only two.”

Dem nodded, looking somber. “Time flies, doesn’t it? All too soon, they’ll-” He fell silent suddenly, looking at the table. What had he meant to say? That the children would be grown all too soon? Was he reluctant to worry about time passing too fast in front of her?

“So what are you going to do for the birthday party?” she asked, changing the topic. Dem seized the opportunity gratefully.

“Not much,” he said. “I’m making a nice meal. Well, Donna’s making the meal.”

“Oh, really?” She hadn’t imagined her eldest daughter being quite so good at cooking, but then again, the only creations of hers she had ever had access to were the occasional cookie or pastry. “She’s making the entire meal? What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Dem said with an adorable crooked smile. “She didn’t tell me. And she’s not alone, Cynthia’s helping her, and your parents too. I’m not sure why she was so eager to cook for her own birthday party, but I’m not complaining. If not for her, I wouldn’t have been able to see you today.” He shrugged.

“Well, thank her for it, then. Is anyone else going to be there, other than Cynthia and the kids?”

“The older kids invited a few friends, as did your dad. I’m also having a few friends from work over. One of them drove me here, in fact.” The family still couldn’t afford a car.

There were already fifteen people living in the house, and now everyone was inviting ‘a few friends’. “Are you sure the house won’t burst at the seams?” Donna asked half-jokingly. “How are you going to feed so many people?”

Dem laughed. “That’s what the extendable table is for,” he pointed out. “And we’ve been saving since the New Year for the party, so I’m sure we’ll manage somehow.” Before, Dem had never had to worry about money, but now, with their savings accounts long since confiscated in the name of the Rebellion, he was forced to scrimp and save. It was unfair that the entire family was suffering because of her, but what could be done?

“That’s good,” Donna said, trying to act cheerful. “Tell them all happy birthday from me, alright?”

“Of course,” Dem said, resting his hand on the glass panel between them. Without thinking, Donna rested hers on the other side. Only millimetres separated them; was that really the warmth of his hand that she was feeling or only her imagination? The bulletproof glass was fully transparent, and a part of Donna felt like she could reach out her hand and touch Dem. It was impossible, of course. The barrier was solid despite its invisibility, cold to the touch unlike the warmth of her husband’s hand that Donna had long since forgotten. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Of course.” Donna forced a smile. “I’m very happy to see you.”

Dem looked about to cry. “Please don’t be sad,” he said, smiling weakly. “You’ll just make me sad, because I can’t feed you cookies and make you feel better.”

Of course, he could feed her cookies, albeit indirectly, but the sentiment remained. “If only you could feed me cookies, that would solve all of our problems.” 

“If only.” He fell silent, and there was an awkward pause.

“Tell the kids I love them,” Donna said in a desperate tone.

“But you already do, in every letter,” Dem replied, furrowing his brows. 

He didn’t understand, but then again, Donna didn’t, either. “Maybe it’ll be different if it’s face-to-face.”

“Maybe.” Dem sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. He glanced at the guards. “Are you doing alright?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Donna said. “Everything is fine.” Dem glanced at the guards again. “No, really!” she insisted, fighting down her irritation. “Life is good. The only problem is the lack of your cookies,” Donna tried to joke.

Dem didn’t laugh. He looked at her with an expression of such pity that she wanted to burst into tears. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “That’s good, then. Is the garden doing well?”

“Very well.”

“We’ll be doing some gardening of our own soon,” Dem said with a smile. “Your parents have moved to Cynthia’s old cottage and are fixing it up.”

Donna struggled to imagine her prim-and-proper parents doing renovations. “I can’t quite imagine Mom hammering in nails as Dad holds the ladder,” she confessed. “How are they finding it?”

At that moment, the door behind Donna opened, and the director from One walked in. The middle-aged woman must have been from the southern part of the District, with that medium-brown skin and narrow eyes, but Donna didn’t know for sure. The directors rarely talked to the inmates informally. Dem glanced at the director, then at the guards, then at Donna, who shrugged. From time to time, the directors sat in during visits. “Carry on,” the director said, standing by the open door.

“Er, fine,” Dem said, still glancing at the director. “The electricity is fixed now, and the water, but there was never heating there and we’re not sure if we can even afford it. Membership dues are annoying to deal with, but if it means the kids can get out of the city for the summer, it will be worth it.” Once, they had travelled all over Panem and not even thought about the cost. “And Cynthia got a promotion just a few days ago, so that makes life easier,” he added, sounding like a proud brother. “We’re still mostly living paycheck-to-paycheck, but a savings account isn’t out of reach anymore.”

Compared to that, Donna’s problems were nothing. All her needs were being taken care of, after all, she didn’t have to worry about utility bills or food. “Sounds like you’re doing not too bad,” she said. “How are my parents enjoying their new jobs?”

“I think they’re just glad to be out of the house,” Dem said. “They’re enjoying the peace and quiet, and given that they have roosters crowing at three in the morning, that says a lot about the kids.” Donna chuckled. Even when the kids were quiet, they still somehow managed to be noisy.

“Tell them I’m glad they’re enjoying their vacation,” Donna said, feeling slightly awkward. Dad shouldn’t have been helping to support two families on his pension, and he and Mom certainly didn’t deserve to be leading the kind of life one needed a vacation from. She glanced around. The director from One was looking at her with an unreadable expression.

Noticing the motion, Dem also glanced at the director before looking back at Donna with a slightly forced smile. “I’m sure they’re enjoying the roosters. And the children who already have designs on the cherry-plums, even though they’re not ripe yet. And the neighbour singing while drunk. And the other neighbour, who keeps on trying to sell them her apple seedlings.” His smile was real now, eyes sparkling with mirth, and Donna felt herself smile slightly as well.

“Sounds like they’re having lots of fun,” she said. “I can’t quite imagine Cynthia vacationing in such a place before, though.” As a rule, the sort of cottages ministers’ families summered at were not the same sort as the ones where lower-class pensioners grew potatoes and apples for their grandchildren.

“It belonged to her family for a few generations,” Dem said with a shrug. “I think she stopped going around the same time she got married. Now, though-” he shrugged again. Now, Cynthia wasn’t in a position to feel lowered by visiting such a place.

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to be back,” Donna said. “And you’ll enjoy it too, I promise. Gardening is very relaxing and satisfying.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“When have I ever lied to you?” she asked playfully.

Dem smiled. “Oh, maybe that time in second year when you told me you were going to study early? Or that other time-”

“Are you really going to bring that up-” Donna protested, laughing, but her husband kept on going.

“-or that other time. Or when you failed that calculus midterm and only told me that it had even happened after you passed the course. Or when you only told me about your applications when they were successful.” He was still smiling and his tone light, but Donna felt as if he was accusing her. “I’m still not sure if you were trying to have me worry less, or worry more.”

“You never told me you were upset by that,” Donna said sharply. Why was he bringing this up out of nowhere? “I just didn’t want to have you ask about midterms and whatnot when I had actually done badly.” During first year, she had told her parents whenever she had written a test, resulting in them constantly asking about marks. Whenever they had been not good enough for them, she had ended up pretending to not have gotten them back yet until they finally gave up. The following year, she simply told them nothing. “My parents always hounded me, so I guess I did the same with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he unexpectedly said, shaking his head. “This isn’t what I came here for. Let’s talk about something else.” Dem ran a hand over his hair, which was buzz-cut similarly to hers. 

“What is there to talk about?” she asked sadly. When they talked about the present, it was confusing, and when they talked about the past, it was upsetting. They had nothing else.

Dem looked slightly desperate. “Do you want to hear about the kids?”

The director from One left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“Sure,” Donna lied. She didn’t want reminders of how her children were growing into strangers, but Dem seized the offered lifeline.

“Donna is standing firm against any attempts by your parents to make her think about the future, but Lars is interrogating your father about how to become an engineer.”

“But-he can’t be-” Was he seriously considering it? The thought of one of her children studying the same profession as her was utterly absurd.

Dem shrugged. “I don’t know. He just turned twelve, though, so I think he’s just asking people close to him out of curiosity.” Twelve. Lars was now as old as his sister had been when Donna had been arrested. Time was truly flying.

“Have you gotten their report cards yet?” she asked. 

“Only Donna’s. The others still have a few weeks left.” 

Dem looked reluctant, but Donna pressed him. “And?”

“Well, she passed everything, but that’s the most I can say about it.”

“Maybe she’ll do better next year,” Donna said, not believing her own words.

“Maybe,” Dem sighed. “We’ll see what happens. Maybe she’ll be more motivated then. At least the others are doing well.”

At least there was that, but it still stung. “How well?”

“As far as I can tell, very well. Octavius is reading everything he can get his hands on, even if he can’t understand the concepts,” Dem said in a proud tone.

Donna cracked a small smile. “Tell him I do the same thing,” she said.

“I most definitely will.”

“Thank you.” It was exhausting to say even that much. Maybe it would have been easier if Dem hadn’t showed up for a visit. Maybe it would be easier if they cut off all contact, letting her forget that every day she spent here was a day she wouldn’t get to spend with her family. Maybe if she had nothing to miss, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

* * *

“So, how was that?” Theodosius asked, concern evident in his voice. “You don’t look any better than before.”

“What do you mean?” Donna asked sarcastically. “We had a lovely one-on-one conversation. Only four guards watching us, and the director from One poked her head in for a few minutes. Very intimate.”

Theodosius chuckled, as did Smith, who had been taking the afternoon walk with him while Donna was talking to her husband. “Still something,” Smith said, skipping slightly. Despite the oppressive heat, she still had energy.

Kicking herself for bringing up the topic in front of the unstable Smith, Donna tried to salvage the situation. “No, no, I was joking. I’m very glad I got to see him,” she said. Now that the visit was over, she felt completely drained and exhausted, and a part of her envied Smith for not having to worry about that.

“I’m glad you’re glad,” Smith said in a sing-songy voice. Theodosius moved a pebble from one pocket to another. “What are you doing?” she asked. “You’ve been moving pebbles between your pockets this entire walk.”

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair, holding his cap in place with the other. “I’m counting laps,” he said. “I’m on a walk through Panem, and this helps me keep track of the distance. Crazy, right?” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

“Not at all,” Smith said. “If you enjoy it, why not? Where are you now, by the way?”

“No, but think about it,” Theodosius insisted. “First I measured out the length of the path with my feet, and now I add to the tally every single day. I’m at the northern tip of Two, and I’m going to head for Seven soon. I’m reading up on what the climate is like there.”

Smith shook her head, staring at Theodosius intently. “Seems quite sane to me. You’re making learning fun for yourself, and you’re setting goals to strive towards.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, smiling slightly. “I still insist on my insanity, though! Sane people don’t pretend they’re walking around the forests near Two when they’re actually within the Capitol perimeter.” Theodosius took out the pebbles from his pocket. “I’m actually done now. Do you want to keep on walking?” he asked Donna.

“I’m fine with working,” Donna said. “Are we continuing with the peas?”

“Yes.” Theodosius placed the pebbles back into his pocket and took off his shoes. Donna followed suit. Walking around the path was uncomfortable without shoes, the gravel bit into their feet. To work in the garden, though, they all took their shoes off. It was easier to clean mud from feet than from shoes. The three put their shoes and socks against the wall, lining them up neatly. The vast majority of the pairs were virtually identical, except for the size, but everyone always managed to find theirs.

The dry clods of dirt were painful to step on sometimes, and the patches of wet mud were slippery where they still hung on to their moisture. Usually, water evaporated almost immediately. Those tomatoes must have been watered just now. Nitza stood on her knees in the dirt, removing invisible weeds from the ground. Her tomato patch looked perfect, every plant meticulously tied to a stake, and tiny green tomatoes covered the plants thickly. Seized by a sudden curiosity, Donna paused to count the tomatoes on one of the plants. 

“How many?” asked Nitza.

“More than sixty so far.”

“Most of them will fall off soon,” she said, but her proud grin belied her words. She stood up, inspecting a leaf. Nitza was about the same height as Donna, but her extreme slenderness made her look taller compared to Donna herself, who was on the skinny side of healthy. “See?” She picked up a fallen tomato from a large leaf, holding it out to them. 

Theodosius took the tomato and rolled it between his fingers. “See, this is why potatoes are better,” he said. “If they don’t grow, you just eat the tiny potatoes. Unripe tomatoes, though, are useless.”

Nitza was extremely offended by his words, tensing up and gritting her teeth. “If you want to eat nothing but potatoes, I’m sure the administration will be glad to arrange it,” she snapped, taking back the tomato and tossing it inside a bucket. “I, however, would prefer some variety in my diet.” Donna did not share that optimism. So far, there was no sign of them being allowed to eat what they grew. Nitza kneeled back down, looking for weeds that were not there. “Did you know that adult mole crickets can fly?” she asked.

“What?” Donna was shocked. The gigantic insects were bad enough with their burrowing, but now they could also _fly_??? The mental image of a swarm of the thumb-sized insects made Donna shudder.

“That’s not fair,” Theodosius complained, echoing her words. “First they dig tunnels in our potatoes and now they can also fly?”

“Is this another one of Cotillion’s jokes?” Smith asked, scratching her head.

Nitza shook her head. “They’ve been this way since forever.” She found another invisible weed and placed it into the bucket.

“Huh,” said Smith. “I suppose we should be grateful Cotillion didn’t make them the size of your arm.”

“That’s impossible,” Donna said instinctively. “You can’t scale up living things endlessly, their bodies just aren’t capable of being that large.” She had picked up a few things from talking with IGR representatives from time to time.

“Ah, yes,” Nitza said in an emotionless tone. “I forgot you’re the real mutt expert here.”

“Is that an accusation?” Donna asked quietly. “I thought a fellow engineer, of all people, wouldn’t listen to nonsense like that.” Nitza had been the head engineer of the Steelworks. Like Donna, she had been accused of the horrific abuses that had gone on in the Districts. Other than that, though, the two were opposites. Donna had been responsible for the Games but not for the conditions the Districts had lived in, and it was the other way around for Nitza. 

“Your tomatoes are lovely,” Smith said. “I hope we get to eat them.”

“Thank you.” Nitza sounded taken aback. “I do, too.”

Smith pushed her cap back, even though that made the sun hit her eyes. “And the weather is also lovely, if a bit too hot. What sort of temperature do tomatoes need?” 

That sort of question wasn’t one Nitza was about to ignore. Forgetting her irritation with Donna, she launched into a monologue they had all heard before. “The nighttime temperature can’t exceed thirty, and the daytime - thirty-five. I think this variety is hardier, though, the daytime temperatures regularly reach above that in the height of summer.” Had Smith done this on purpose, to distract Nitza? “If only it was so phytophthora-resistant as well, then it would have been absolutely perfect.”

“Mrs. Blues and Mr. Coll are also worried about phytophthora,” Smith said as she knelt down next to Nitza. 

“It’s a common problem,” Nitza explained. As the two women talked, Donna and Theodosius took their leave of them and headed towards the peas. There were several wooden frames, with twine hanging down that the peas climbed. Despite the fact that the plants were vertical, it was still hard to prune them, as they tended to attach to each other and to the weeds.

“I didn’t realize Smith was that sharp,” Theodosius confessed as he removed weeds from the ground. “Nitza was really being harsh on you there.”

Donna tried to wiggle one of the frames, but it held fast. “It’s like with Holder. The moment you write them off as erratic, they do something subtle like that.”

“Holder is the opposite of erratic,” Theodosius pointed out, “but I get what you mean. I still think Smith is faking, though.” According to the guards, she acted in a completely normal way when talking to her children. 

“I think it’s less faking and more - putting in no effort. She finds it harder to control herself, and doesn’t bother when she sees no point.”

Theodosius inspected one of the vines. “I just want to know what she’s like with her psychologist. If we knew what was actually wrong with her, everything would make more sense.” While it was obvious that this strange behaviour started when Smith was locked up in total solitary for a month and it was obvious that total solitary was ruinous for mental health, the details remained a mystery especially as the mental health of the prisoners was considered to be a state secret on par with the nuclear codes.

“Same. There’s no way she’ll tell us, though.” Donna crouched down to help with the weeding.

* * *

Dr. Chu was wearing a different kerchief today. It was a striking yellow, embroidered with blue flowers in all shapes and sizes.

“I like your kerchief.” Donna said. It looked too bright to be real.

“Thank you,” said the psychologist. “I embroidered it myself.”

That explained why the flowers were so all over the place. “You did an amazing job, then.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Dr. Chu positioned herself on the backless chair and gave Donna the ball. “Now, how are you doing today?”

Donna rolled the ball between her palms. “Not too well, I guess. My husband came for a visit.” The psychologist knew that already, but she always wanted to hear the full story from Donna. “It didn’t go too well. I was happy at the beginning, but then everything went wrong.” She paused, kneading the ball and gathering her thoughts. “Things just kept on going wrong. They’d go right for a while, and then they went wrong.”

“Could you give an example?”

“Well, we were talking about our kids, and then somehow we started fighting over something that happened twenty years ago.” Donna didn’t want to remember it. She flattened out the ball, watching it become more and more transparent as she stretched it.

“I know you can give more details than that,” Dr. Chu said. Reluctantly, Donna paraphrased the conversation.

“It’s like he couldn’t take a joke all of a sudden!” she complained. “Why did he even want to bring up all that nonsense?”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “In all fairness, it sounds like you couldn’t take a joke either. You did say that he was still speaking in a lighthearted tone.”

“I guess.” Had she overreacted? Donna brought her knees to her chest, hugging herself with her hands while still fidgeting with the ball. “Maybe we’ve just forgotten how to communicate.”

“And what makes you think that?” Dr. Chu asked, adjusting her kerchief.

When squeezed, the ball made a funny sound. Donna pinched it with two fingers, creating a torus. “It’s like we didn’t understand each other,” she said. “Dem said things, then realized he might upset me with them, and suddenly stopped talking. And like you said, I misinterpreted his tone.” Was this going to be the new normal? Her children’s visits already consisted of more silence than conversation, would her husband also drift away? “I should have expected that,” she said, trying to not show how frustrated she was. “We talk maybe once or twice a year. We’re forgetting each other.”

“Forgetting how?”

“How to hold a conversation. It’s like we’re growing apart,” Donna realized. The isolation was making them go their separate ways. “I don’t want him to drift away,” she said desperately. 

“You write to each other weekly, though,” Dr. Chu pointed out. “People do manage to maintain relationships over long distances from time to time.”

“How does that work?” Donna asked. “I’ve only ever heard of relationships falling apart when one of them is in prison.”

Dr. Chu wrote something down. “There are many other situations where people who are very close to each other stay in touch while living apart,” the psychologist said. “One of my friends escaped Eleven when just thirteen. She made it to Thirteen, and managed to stay in touch with her best friend through a friendly Peacekeeper and a courier who lived in the Wilds. They wrote to each other weekly for forty years until the Rebellion broke out and they were able to meet face-to-face again. They’re still best friends right now.”

“That’s amazing,” Donna said. To change so much and yet still be so attached to each other? “But I think that doesn’t really apply here.”

“Why not?” Dr. Chu asked, tapping her pen. “You and your husband are apart physically, but still write to each other regularly.”

“You know exactly why,” Donna snapped. “He’s out there, living his life, while I’m in here.” She gestured to the stark-white walls that shone like the sun under the light of the lightbulb. “Nothing happens to me. Every single time he asks what I’m up to, I have the same answer.”

“Are you worried that he thinks you might be insincere and trying to dodge his questions?”

That had never even entered her mind, but it made perfect sense. “Yes,” Donna said gratefully, pressing on the sides of the ball slightly to make it look like a cube. “That’s what you do when you don’t want to answer, right? You say you’re fine. But I’m telling the truth. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

“You do plenty of things, though,” Dr. Chu pointed out. 

That was not an option. “I can’t start describing to him the intricacies of potato-growing,” she said, “and neither can I tell him about books he’s never read and doesn’t have the time to read now. There is nothing else I’m allowed to talk about.”

“Out of curiosity, what did you talk about today?” the psychologist asked.

“Dem talked about our children a lot.” Dr. Chu jotted something down. “How are they doing, how’s school, stuff like that. Mostly, he just told me things, and I asked for details. My parents are renovating Cynthia’s family’s cottage.”

Dr. Chu wrote all of that down, or at least that was what it seemed like. “How old are your parents?” she asked. “I forgot.”

How old _were_ they? “They’re in their late sixties.”

“That’s impressive,” Dr. Chu said. “Neither of my parents lived to sixty.”

Donna shrugged. “The average person in the Capitol lives to ninety. You just had terrible healthcare. If I remember correctly, the life expectancy at birth in Eleven was forty-something, though, of course, the life expectancy of an adult was much higher than that.” In the outer Districts, the extremely high infant mortality had made already low life expectancies even lower. During the famine of 31-32 in Nine, the life expectancy at birth had been five years.

“I suppose so,” Dr. Chu said. “You told me before that your father is retired, right?”

“And my mother never worked, yes.” They had been over her family several times now.

“How are they finding their new job?”

To Dr. Chu, the thought of a very rich retired couple (after all, Donna’s mother had never worked!) renovating a house by themselves must have been very strange, Donna realized. “Well, Dem didn’t say much, but apparently, they are enjoying the peace and quiet. I have no idea how he and Cyntha are coping with the kids by themselves.”

“I’m sure it’s nice to enjoy some silence after eleven kids.”

“That’s the thing!” Donna said. “There’s roosters crowing at three in the morning and drunks singing late into the night. It’s only silent compared to eleven kids.”

Dr. Chu looked extremely confused. “The spouse of a minister came from that sort of family?” she asked. “I thought only the poorer people had cottages in the villages.”

“I was surprised, too.” Donna said. “As far as I remember, her maternal grandparents had actually lived there permanently. Her mother worked in the trades, I forget which one, and so did her father, and they kept the house as a cottage so they see nature from time to time. Cynthia met Theodosius at some Games event when they were in highschool, and the higher he rose, the more she pushed away her family. That kind of background was the kind of thing you either owned or hid,” she explained, “and they were able to hide it.”

For some reason, Dr. Chu was writing that down. “And what happened to her family later?” she asked.

“Her parents died in a car crash ten years ago. I know what you’re thinking,” Donna rushed to explain, “but the rumours are vastly exaggerated. You’d have to be a personal enemy of someone highly important to actually get killed off. Even Snow preferred to just forcibly retire people. It’s just that everyone wanted to make their enemies look bad, so they made stuff up.” Donna shrugged, kneading the ball. “Of course, it’s possible. I think she’s in touch with her siblings, but I don’t even know how many she has, which says a lot.”

“That is very interesting,” Dr. Chu said. “Did you interact frequently?”

“No, that was mostly Dem, and even he barely knew her before 76. Theodosius and I were never close before, the only time Dem and Cynthia met were at the social functions where spouses were invited. I think they got along even then.”

“I’d sure hope so,” Dr. Chu said with a smile, “given that they’re living in the same house now!”

“Oh, they’re like siblings now. The kids aren’t necessarily that close, though. Our eldest sons don’t get along at all.” 

“That’s a shame.” Donna nodded, kneading the ball. “Is it still the same conflict?”

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “I barely have contact with them.” Dr. Chu said nothing, waiting for her to speak. “That’s the thing, too,” she said, kneading the ball. The blueness of the ball turned into clearness sprinkled with glitter. “I’m reliant on what they tell me. I’m sure there’s plenty of things they never mention for whatever reason, so when I’m unaware of them, it makes them feel like I don’t understand them.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “What makes you suspect that?”

“I do it, too,” Donna explained. “Things that I know they won’t understand, I don’t mention. But what if they do the same thing, and I miss out on important information?”

“Have you tried telling your husband that?”

“I don’t think he’d take it the right way.”

“That sounds like a vicious circle!” the psychologist exclaimed. “The less you tell each other the harder it becomes for you to hold a conversation, which makes you even more reluctant to speak honestly about what is going on in your life.”

Donna shrugged, flattening the ball in her hands. “So what do I do?” she asked.

“I still think you should be honest with your husband.”

Easier said than done, but Donna nodded. Maybe today, she could send a little note to Dem. He would probably be upset about the visit, and maybe if she said the right thing he wouldn’t be so sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This photo fits closely with my mental image of Theodosius https://imgur.com/a/2IbDEym. Imaginary points to anyone who can tell me who this photo is actually of.


	31. Bounteous Harvest

It felt very strange to use a giant saw to harvest zucchinis.

“Careful,” Theodosius said. “I think you almost cut the actual plant there.” 

Trying to adjust the saw’s position was almost impossible. Donna pushed the fat vine out of the way as much as it would go, and tilted the saw even more. Using small motions, she managed to cut off the zucchini. Theodosius crouched down to pick it up, sweeping his sleeve along the vegetable to make sure there were no prickly hairs that would be painful to touch. “It’s massive,” he breathed, holding it out away from his body. 

“Are you harvesting all of them?” Li asked, looking up from his radishes. He was squatting at the edge of the patch, and the three could talk easily.

“No,” Donna said, “some of them are still quite small.” While a few of the zucchinis had reached a length of nearly half a metre, others were about the size of a large cucumber.

Li brushed dirt off a radish. “The smaller ones taste better, though.” That was true. Baby zucchini could be made into salad without even removing the seeds, but the giants like the one Theodosius were holding would have their seeds removed before being made into stew.

“The bigger ones are bigger,” Theodosius said with a shrug as he gave Donna the zucchini in exchange for the saw. “How are the radishes?”

“Normal.” Li held up a radish to the light, inspecting it. “I think something ate this one already, though.” He tossed it into the trash bucket.

“That’s a shame.” Donna spun the zucchini in her hands. It was very light for something of that size. Theodosius walked around the path, moving the large leaves out of the way. They hid very well, but not so much that they were hard to find. He got on one knee and began to saw away. 

Holding a second zucchini in his hands, Theodosius asked Li, “So what was in that letter you got?”

“You got a letter?” Donna asked, surprised. He had never received one before.

Li nodded, smiling shyly. “My parents wrote to me. They’re going to come visit soon.”

“That’s amazing!” Theodosius called out from several metres away. “I didn’t even know you have a family.”

“Well, I also thought I didn’t have one anymore.” Li placed several radishes into a bucket. “But if you read between the lines, it’s clear they’re campaigning for my release.” Had this letter even been sent through the official channels? “I’ll have to tell them to join forces with the rest of them. There’s no way I’m getting out before the rest of the lifers.”

In Donna’ opinion, there was no way he was getting out, period. Not when increased tensions between Two and Seven, which had been the result of Two refusing to yield on something to do with extradition, had resulted in the director from Two treating the others to an even better meal than usual at their weekly meeting and loudly announcing the respect he had for Seven’s representative. None of the inmates had even found out about the incident until over a week after it had happened, as all of the guards had kept on acting as if nothing had happened, and they still knew none of the details. She didn’t bring it up, though, not to Li. “That’s nice,” she said instead, focusing on the zucchini plants. “How is your family?”

“They’re alright,” Li said happily. “They were too scared to write for a while, they were worried someone might want to harm them because of me, but they’re not anymore. What should I write to them?” he asked. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

Hearing that, Theodosius walked over to where Donna was and sat down next to her with an armful of zucchinis. “Keep in mind the forbidden topics,” he pointed out. “I’m sure they’ll be more lenient with you, as it’s your first letter, but they’ll still take away your pen and paper if you persist in writing something they don’t like.”

“I wasn’t planning on writing about the past. It’s the present I’m worried about.” Li reached over and dug up another radish. How did he manage to stay squatting for so long? Donna’s knees would have been in agony by this point.

“You’ve heard us complain time and time again about restrictions on topics,” she pointed out, crumbling a clod of dirt between her fingers. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Li shook his head, staring at the radish he was holding. “But what do I write about?” he asked with a tinge of desperation in his voice. “The weather? The crochet? Nitza’s tomatoes? My parents aren’t going to understand what’s going on in here.”

“Say it between the lines,” Theodosius said. “‘I’m enjoying work, the directors have praised me for my crochet skills, one of my acquaintances has reached a yield of fifty tomatoes per plant.’ Well, maybe not the part about the directors,” he conceded, “but tell them you’re doing fine. Remember, they’ve heard nothing but inaccurate gossip for years, they’ll be happy you’re happy.”

“‘Happy’ is an overstatement,” Li grumbled. “And they’ll think I’m doing the same as I did in the Academy, where I told them things were fine when they were very much not fine.”

That was, unfortunately, a very likely prospect. For months, the tabloids had passed off interviews with off-duty guards in bars as the truth, resulting in some truly out there rumours circulating. Occasionally, particularly juicy bits were shared with the inmates. Apparently, the basement was haunted by the ghosts of the political prisoners who had been murdered there. Someone had even claimed to have personally talked to one.

“It’s worth a shot,” Donna said, “especially since they’ll be visiting you. I’m sure they’ll trust you over some newspaper.”

“How old are your parents?” Theodosius asked. “I’m just curious.”

“Sixty-seven and sixty-six.” Since Li himself was forty-seven, that made them very young. “Yeah, they were young when they had me,” he said, noticing their looks. “People married as soon as they were out of the Reaping back then”

“My own parents are a bit older than that,” Donna said. 

Li stared off into the distance. “Shame they won’t see you freed. If you’re not released early, that is.”

Donna didn’t like to think about that. “My father was sick for a few months during the trial, but he’s perfectly fine right now. There are no hereditary diseases in the family, and all of the relatives I know of met or beat the life expectancy. I think we’ll have a few years together.” She chuckled nervously. The topic made her feel anxious. 

“I forgot you all live until you’re ninety,” said Li with a smile.

“‘You all’?” Theodosius asked. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be receiving the best Capitol healthcare until your dying day.”

“You know, if you had told me that just a few years ago, I’d have assumed you thought I was going to retire in the Capitol.” Li held up a handful of dirt, letting the wind blow it out of his palm. “Funny thing is, I’m actually living like a poor retiree. Growing food, handcrafts, library books, exercise. Shame only about the lack of freedom.”

“That’s a really nice way to look at things,” Donna said impulsively. Fortunately, Li took it in a good way. He shrugged, adjusting his cap. Like Theodosius, he had tucked an undershirt into the back of his cap to protect the neck from the burning sun.

Theodosius shifted to a crouch. “Would you like some help with the radishes?” he asked. “I think the rest of the zucchinis should wait a few days.” He placed them on the ground between himself and Donna, who also put down the one she had been holding.

“That would be nice,” Li said. The two moved over to his patch. While it would take Li no time at all to harvest them by himself, even a short time spent harvesting was better than just weeding. “You really think I should just tell them about my life?” he asked. “Nothing happens here.”

“Then say that nothing is happening,” Donna said. “That’s what I do every week, and my husband still wants to know what’s up in the next letter he sends.” Theodosius made noises of assent.

* * *

“Look at that guard!” Donna hissed to Theodosius, who looked up from the cabbage he had been hoeing to stare at a guard, a man from Thirteen, who was happily eating a tomato. Nitza, the proud grower of the tomato, looked to be basking in praise.

“Lucky him.” Theodosius leaned on his hoe, watching the guard pick another tomato and walk off. “Nitza looks happy, though.”

“Maybe he counted how many tomatoes there are,” Donna hissed under her breath, not wanting anyone to overhear. Nitza was always pleased when someone counted how many tomatoes there were on her plants.

Theodosius chuckled, not taking his eyes off Nitza, who was carefully picking the ripe tomatoes and placing them into a bucket. “I want one,” he said.

Shuddering internally at the memory of the week spent in total solitary, Donna shook her head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Come on, the guards aren’t going to punish us for doing something they themselves are doing,” he insisted in a slightly pleading tone.

“I’ll come with you,” Donna compromised, “but I’m not going to eat anything until I’m certain.” They put down their hoes and walked in the direction of Nitza’s tomatoes. While there were many other tomato plants in the yard, Nitza took care of only her own section. 

“Good day, Mrs. Nitza,” Donna said. The older woman greeted them in return. “We saw a guard eating a tomato just now, did he say anything interesting?”

“No,” replied Nitza, inspecting an orange tomato. She shook her head slightly and reached for a different one, red in colour. “Just told me they’re good. Said he can’t wait to be demobilized, so he can eat fresh food whenever he wants. You want one?” She offered the tomato to them, and Theodosius took it eagerly. It was much smaller than the tomatoes that were sold in stores, but still sizable. Theodosius could have hidden it in his hands, but barely.

“You want to split it?” he asked Donna, who shrugged. Theodosius carefully bit off half and chewed with a blissful expression on his face.

“It’s so juicy.” Donna took the other half and stuffed it into her mouth. It was, indeed, juicy, as well as almost sweet. How long since she had eaten a fresh tomato? Years, surely. She licked at her teeth, trying to get at those last bits of flavour.

“It is juicy,” she echoed Theodosius.

Nitza smiled. “Thanks. I’ve got so many, I could probably hand them out by the handful and still have most left.” The large plants, a metre or so tall, were covered with the tomatoes.

“Last year, there was a catastrophe - no tomatoes. This year, another catastrophe - too many tomatoes,” Donna joked.

Still smiling, Nitza shrugged. “One problem is easier to solve than another, though.” She gestured to Fourrer, who was approaching them, drawn in by the promise of a tomato. “As long as the guards don’t take offense, that is.” Donna and Theodosius slunked back to the cabbages, not wanting to be in the epicentre of a potential storm.

As they removed weeds, the director from Thirteen appeared in the yard. Donna continued working, but kept one eye on the director, who approached Nitza and told her something in a voice too quiet for Donna and Theodosius to hear. It was obvious what the man had said, though. Nobody tried to ask Nitza for a tomato after that. 

“I don’t get it,” Theodosius said, bending down to pick up a weed. “Why can’t we eat any of this now?” While the food they grew would eventually end up in the meal trays, the lack of fresh vegetables was irritating to people who spent their entire day surrounded by the vegetables.

“I have no idea.” The cabbage by Donna’s feet wasn’t growing very well. She crouched down and tried to push it lightly, but it held firm. Perfectly fine, then, just small. It wasn’t even that undersized, though, but the one next to it was very large, skewing her perception.

Noticing her action, Theodosius asked, “Is there something wrong with that one?”

“No, it just looks small next to that other one.” Donna pointed it out with her hoe. “Well, it’s also just small, but being next to the huge one does it no favours.”

“Ah, so it’s a Donna-cabbage.” Donna chuckled at that. Her height was a perfectly average metre sixty-five, but she did feel small next to Theodosius, who was closer to a metre eighty. A better analogy would have been the metre forty-five Talvian and two-metre Krechet, but Donna didn’t want to bring them up. 

“I don’t think I’m purple, though,” she joked instead. “And that cabbage has way more anthocyanin than I have melanin.” Biology was much more fun when you weren’t being tested on it.

Theodosius looked sceptically at the cabbage. “That analogy does fall apart rather fast, doesn’t it? I don’t think albino cabbage even exists.”

“You’d need a cabbage that had pigment only in its outer layer,” Donna pointed out. Theodosius did have dark hair for now, even if he was starting to go grey at the temples. “That’s way more complicated than just a certain amount.”

“Not for long.” Theodosius self-consciously touched one of his temples. “At least I’m not going bald. Yet.”

That was one problem Donna didn’t have to worry about. “I had a coworker once, he got a hair transplant, but it got infected. He showed me photos later, it was gnarly.”

Theodosius cringed slightly. “It’s all downhill from here, huh?”

“Not if you never got uphill in the first place.” Donna picked up the bucket of weeds, which was mostly full. “You want to go throw this out?”

Putting down his hoe, Theodosius followed her. “I’m not sure if I want to take a break or not,” he said. “Depends on the company.”

The “company” turned out to be three of the later arrivals. Xu, Zelenka, and Koy were discussing Thirteen as they stood by the compost pile with empty buckets in their hands.

“They’re crazy,” Zelenka was saying. “Can you imagine anyone actually wanting to live like they did?” Donna realized they were talking about a recent survey done among everyone born in Thirteen. According to one of the wardens from Thirteen, they had been asked various questions on what they thought of Thirteen before and after the Rebellion, and if they lived elsewhere now, then why. “I understand being nostalgic for the past, but really?”

It wasn’t that hard to wrap one’s mind around, though. For seventy-five years, Thirteen had clung to the illusion that they were heroically surviving in the face of the Capitol onslaught, the epicentre of organized Rebel activity. Now that the majority of the discourse was more along the lines of ‘but why didn’t you do anything earlier?’, the people of Thirteen were naturally unhappy with their new position in Panem. The radical reforms carried out after Coin’s death had also played a role, despite the fact that democratization, reconstruction, and openness had all been eagerly greeted in the beginning. When Donna brought that up, though, Zelenka just shrugged.

“That makes sense, but that warden was biased,” she pointed out. “She’s going to move to Two when she leaves here, that says a lot about her beliefs.”

That was a valid point. “I suppose so,” Donna conceded. “Have any other Thirteeners said anything?” What the question meant, of course, was if anyone had managed to get some clandestine news. Anything said by a guard was immediately passed on to every other inmate within the hour.

And sure enough, Xu nodded. “Someone told me that the older generations, the people who lived in Thirteen for decades, don’t support the reforms.” The small group of inmates gathered around closer as Xu continued in a low voice. “Most of them prefer the almost total equality of those times. They’d rather all be equally poor than have some people be rich and others - poor. Apparently, many are reluctant to move out of the underground complexes, even though they used to make a huge deal about how they’re fighting so they don’t have to hide under the ground ever again.” 

That fit with Donna’s point perfectly. “So you’re saying that they’re nostalgic for their ‘heroic’ past?” she asked.

Zelenka spoke up. “That does seem reasonable,” she conceded. 

“Thirteen makes no sense,” Koy complained. “They’re doing everything they can in here to make our lives more difficult, but who is most vehemently opposed to the presence of our military people in here? Not Two, but Thirteen.” While Two’s tendency to stick up for former Peacekeepers often came at the expense of the Supermaxers, there had been many military voices in the Rebellion who had thought that sentencing soldiers for following orders was an insult to the noble profession of arms. They had been particularly upset by the sentences of Best and Verdant. The occasional naval skirmish between the Coast Guard and Thirteen’s trade convoys when one of the latter ventured too far south had left them with the impression that the Coast Guard had been uninvolved with the atrocities of the land and air branches of service. It made no sense after the parade of witnesses testifying about what had happened to defectors trying to flee by sea, at least to Donna.

“Like I said,” Zelenka said. “They’re crazy.”

Theodosius shook his head. “I’m sure there’s a method to their madness,” he said with an odd intonation.

“Where’s that one from?” Donna asked, catching onto the hint.

“Pre-Cataclysm literature.”

“What era?” Koy asked with interest. He was very interested in the century before the Cataclysm, even though his book requests kept on being rejected for no reason anyone could figure out.

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Theodosius said apologetically. “It’s from a few centuries before the Cataclysm, even the language is different.”

“Maybe I’ll still read it,” Koy said. “That sounds like Smith, though. Her madness definitely has a method.”

Theodosius looked slightly irritated at not being able to go on a rant about whatever book he was reading. “I suppose so.”

The five glanced in the direction of Smith, who was working with Oldsmith, completely unaware that she was being discussed. “I don’t think so,” said Xu. “She’s stopped humming, for one. Maybe she’s just getting better.”

“Or maybe she’s realized that it isn’t getting a rise out of us anymore, so she’s stopped for now. Just watch, she’ll come up with something else next.” Koy was not convinced.

Zelenka looked around, searching for someone. “Hryb’s still acting the same way as before, even though I don’t recall his nonsense ever working.”

“Hryb’s thirty,” Koy pointed out. Hryb was actually thirty-one, not that it mattered. “Naturally, he’s taking it the worst out of all of us.”

And so what? Donna and Theodosius were forty, which was pretty much the same thing in the eyes of the seventy-year-old Koy. They didn’t antagonize the guards, though, or act like Donna’s younger children when confronted with a particularly unwanted task. “I’m not that much older,” she said, “and I don’t think I’m taking it that badly.” Too late, Donna remembered that Hryb was a lifer. Their cases were not comparable at all. Xu, Zelenka, and Koy likewise were in here for life; she scrambled to think of something to prevent offense. “Even taking into consideration our different situations,” she rushed to defuse the situation, “I still think Hryb’s behaviour is completely irrational. He is certain he’ll be released soon, after all. He’s not despairing, he’s got no reason to act out.”

The men remained unconvinced. “He behaves rationally when it suits him,” Koy argued. “It’s all calculated to annoy the guards. That’s my opinion. There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just immature.”

Theodosius nodded along. “You haven’t seen him in the mornings, so you just don’t get it.” He glanced around them, probably checking to make sure Hryb wasn’t within earshot. “If he’s ignored, he snaps back to normal immediately. Always. Remember how a few days ago, they took away his mattress and left?” The women had to accede to that point. Apparently, Hryb had been unceremoniously dumped out of bed by two wardens, who then proceeded to immediately leave with the mattress. Something about the incident had motivated Hryb to join the meal queue with no further complaints, but Donna thought there was a different reason.

“Remember when your kids refused to get out of bed in the morning?” Donna asked. “If you dragged them out often enough, they’d eventually listen to you, but that didn’t remove the underlying laziness, it just made them a bit more disciplined when it came to getting out of bed. And if the motivator is something other than normal laziness, it won’t be removed with any amount of discipline.”

Xu was looking around cautiously. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree for now,” she said, pointing out two guards who were walking in their general direction. Donna and Theodosius slunk back, intending to work.

“I’ve been thinking of measuring the yard,” Theodosius said as they walked down the path. 

“Measure it how?” Donna asked. “Along the wall?” Now that he had mentioned it, she was also curious to find out how big the yard was. The path only encircled a part of it. There was, however, a problem. “Won’t the sentries forbid it?” Anyone coming too close to the wall was liable to be shouted at by an irritated sentry, who was also pointing a machine gun at them.

“Not if we don’t go too close,” he pointed out. Theodosius looked around the yard, standing on tiptoe. Then, he took out his pen from his sleeve, which was rolled up to the elbow. He must have taken it from his cell that morning. “I’ll count the number of steps in the length and width of the yard, and I’ll write it down on my arm. Then, I’ll convert that to metres when I get back.” He hid the pen back up his sleeve. “And since they don’t actually do much more than a patdown, they won’t find the pen. What do you think?” His eyes were shining.

The guards had recently received orders to search the inmates when they came back from the yard, but predictably, the searches became cursory patdowns shortly afterward. Theodosius could have probably gotten away with keeping the pen in his pocket. “Sounds like a plan,” Donna said. “Do you want me to do something specific?” 

“Oh, no, no. You can talk if you want, but I won’t be able to respond, since I’ll be counting.” They reached the far edge of the meadow, took a few more steps, and put down their buckets. Donna glanced hesitantly at the closest guard tower. Even from that distance, it was obvious that the sentry was bored. They were pacing back and forth, staring at the forest that lay beyond the prison, the trees none of the inmates could see. Donna looked back at Theodosius, who began to slowly walk in the opposite direction, heel touching toe. 

“I finished reading _Crime and Punishment_ yesterday,” she said. Theodosius didn’t reply, as he had promised. It was a bit odd to not have him immediately jump into the conversation, but maybe this way, she would actually be able to express her thoughts without having him distract her into an unrelated tangent. “I have no idea why you’d want to read such a thing,” Donna complained. Theodosius had recommended the book to her, but it ended up just making her feel utterly miserable. “The censors probably laughed their heads off at the thought of us reading it. I mean, he ends up in _prison_ in the end! Don’t you think that’s a bit too on the nose?” Theodosius did not reply, though he did crack a small smile.

“I think I understand what drove him to confess, though.” That part had been uncomfortable to read, as it had reminded her of the trial. “You think that something was the right thing to do, but then you realize it wasn’t. Except that what we did was considered normal at the time. He just made up a justification for something he knew was wrong. And what he did was a crime of desperation. Not a conspiracy to commit crimes against humanity.” Donna shook her head. Thinking along those lines always brought with it an odd, sucking feeling of revulsion. The psychologist called it shame. Donna didn’t want to call it anything. “Dr. Chu is going to have a field day with us. I wonder if she likes literary analysis.” A strange thought came to her head. “I’ll have to tell my grade twelve Lit teacher about this. I told her once that I’d never need to read anything beyond technical manuals, so why bother with all that stuff about themes and whatever? She’ll laugh her head off when she finds out I read literature nearly every day. And analyze it. For fun.”

They walked down the path, gravel digging into bare feet. Theodosius whispered under his breath as he counted steps. Walking so slowly was a chore, so Donna also adopted the heel-to-toe tread to make herself slow down. Several of the others shot them curious looks, so Donna explained what Theodosius was doing. “I should have thought of that myself,” was the general reply. 

“I’m not quite sure what I feel about the ending, though.” They were close to the corner, or at least what passed for a corner. The yard was not quite a rectangle, and the corners were rounded. “He’s not sincere when he confesses, but later-” she fell silent, unable to articulate the thought further. The situations were simply not comparable.

When they reached the corner, Theodosius glanced around before whipping the pen out of his sleeve and writing down the number of steps on his right forearm, just under the elbow. “Phew,” he said, sighing in relief. “One down, one to go. By the way, I don’t think that that entire thing about being a superior person is just an excuse he latches on to. I think he actually believes it at the beginning.”

“I find that hard to believe. I think it’s just something he tells himself to make himself feel better about his situation.”

“No, no, that’s only later. He starts out sincerely thinking it’s the case, then he starts experiencing a breakdown, and then he eventually realizes he was wrong.”

Donna could see where this was going. “So, in essence, you’re saying he sincerely believed in a messed-up ideal, while I think he never actually believed it but still used it to justify his crimes.”

“Um, yes?” Theodosius said hesitantly. He ran a hand through his hair. “Dr. Chu will be delighted to hear about this.”

“You were the one who recommended the book to me,” Donna pointed out, not unkindly. 

“But did you like it?”

That wasn’t a good word to use. “It gave me something to think about.”

Theodosius sighed. “Why is it that we read all this too late?” he asked the nearby walnut tree. “I wonder-”

“Wonder what?” Donna asked, sharper than she had intended. “When I reread works I read back in highschool, I feel like I’m reading them for the first time. It’s not that we read these things too late, it’s that we understand them too late.”

“I see what you mean,” Theodosius said. “The stuff I’m reading, there’s no way I’d have been able to understand it back then.” He scuffed at the ground with a foot, drawing patterns in the sparse gravel. “I’m going to continue now, alright?”

As he resumed his slow, deliberate walk, Donna searched for something to say. It was much harder when she didn’t have his responses to bounce off of. “We should ask the guards who have also read it what they thought. Maybe they’ve got some ideas we’ve missed.” Theodosius started to count a little bit louder, so Donna thought it was more prudent to stop talking. She walked in silence after that, listening to Theodosius quietly count out loud. The grass was soft under her feet. They’d need to go through and pull it all up, as having grass grow right next to a vegetable bed made it look messy.

“Why did you stop talking?” Theodosius asked as he wrote down the number and hid the pen.

“You started counting louder, so I thought I was distracting you.”

“Oh.” He sagged slightly. “It’s no problem.” Theodosius untucked his shirt sleeves slightly to hide the writing on his arm.

“So, how big is the yard, do you think?” Donna asked as they began to walk back.

“Far as I can tell, something like six square kilometres, but that’s a very rough estimate.”

Donna did a quick mental calculation. Six square kilometres for sixty-odd inmates. Six thousand metres, sixty people. Six hundred metres, six people. “One hundred square metres per person,” she said, “so two hundred for the two of us, even though our potato patch is nowhere near that. Although if you factor in the meadow and the empty bits under most of the trees, that’s a bit more reasonable.”

“I rounded up,” Theodosius explained. “It’ll probably shrink once I actually do the calculations.” 

Donna looked around the yard. Six square kilometres, more or less. Massive and nothing at the same time. “Cynthia’s cottage doesn’t come close, I bet.”

“Two hundred square metres, and that’s including the house. They’re all going to be so jealous once I tell them,” he said with a smile. “Even eleven children should be able to fit in here.” That was doubtful. Children could make any space feel cramped.

“How will you tell them? The administration keeps plans and maps away from us like the nuclear codes, there’s no way they’ll let you write it in a letter.” The answer to that was obvious, but Donna still asked it for the benefit of potential listeners.

Theodosius didn’t answer the question. “Do you think that simile is still relevant, now that they’re disarming?” Once the last nuke in Thirteen’s arsenal was destroyed, there would be no more nuclear weapons in the world. For decades, Thirteen and the Capitol had been the only ones with nukes, the rest of the world unwilling to achieve parity because of what that had brought last time. An idiotic decision, but Donna could understand it.

“Alright,” she said, “like the proverbial nuclear codes.”

“That also works.” Donna glanced up at the guard tower. The sentry waved slightly at them.


	32. Politics

“Wait, you three!” the guard hissed under her breath. “Paylor got re-elected.” The elections had happened two weeks ago.

“Of course she did,” Blatt said bitterly. “What were the results?” They were still walking, but at a snail’s pace.

“She won fifty-two percent of the vote. Move along now!”

The guard didn’t even say how much the other candidates had received. “That’s much lower than before,” Blatt pointed out. Paylor had first come to power with over sixty percent of the vote.

“Still the absolute majority,” Grass pointed out. “If only we knew more about the candidates! It makes a huge difference if she had any serious competition. Especially if they actually go through with that idea of term limits.” Grass’ tone said exactly what she thought of either it or the chance of it happening.

The little knot split up, and Donna continued walking with Blatt in the direction of their gym. “She didn’t have any serious competition then, and she won’t now.”

“She lost ten percent, though, that’s a lot,” Donna argued. “The question is if it mostly went to one specific candidate or split up more or less evenly.”

Blatt shook her head. “You’d do better to think about the parties, and not the candidates. Individuals don’t count for anything anymore, only the organization does.”

“The candidate is the face of the party,” Donna said. “At least, that’s what the books say,” she amended her statement. As if she knew anything about what was going on outside the walls. Hopefully Livia and Dancer would write soon.

In the gym, the election results were the main topic of discussion, beating out even Verdant’s cluster headaches, the reason for his absence. “I am curious to see what happens during the next elections,” Li said. “Since Paylor won’t be running and all.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Katz asked. 

Li nodded forcefully as he started the collar of the sweater he was making. “They practically hung up a sign saying ‘don’t overstay your welcome or else’. They’ll have to follow the will of the people.”

“And if the people will otherwise?” Katz remained unconvinced.

“Well,” said Li, “I have read about dictators who first gained power legally, some by being elected and some - not. I suppose there’s always a danger of that.” His voice was pitched to carry to the entire gym, but only barely.

In a much quieter voice, Strata asked, “How can someone come to power legally without being elected?”

“If they were, say, the vice-president and the president died, they would end up in charge without being elected. There was also this one weird incident I’m reading about, but I have no idea what’s going on there, and half the books I ask for get rejected.”

“Huh.” Strata resumed crocheting.

Donna made a final stitch and went up to ask for a new ball of yarn. Joining was sometimes difficult and sometimes not, depending on what part of the sweater she was making. Since she was making a single crochet panel at the moment, it was easy. She made the loop larger, drew the new yarn through, pulled it tight, and resumed crocheting, using the new yarn. The first stitch looked a little bit off, but once she went over it with the next row, it would be invisible.

“That’s why I’m sticking to older literature for now,” Theodosius was saying. “That doesn’t have any forbidden topics, though how something written during the twentieth century can refer to the Games is beyond me.” That was their consensus so far, that something that had happened back then was too similar to either the Games or the regime in general. That made no sense, as they all had read plenty of books on the time and there was no implication whatsoever that the Games or something similar to them could have happened. The only other option, however, was that the forbidden books contained information about their trials, and that made even less sense, as the events described had happened several hundred years ago.

“I’m still hoping I manage to find something,” Li said. “The problem is, I have no idea what I’m looking for. There were all sorts of atrocities, but nothing even vaguely reminiscent of the Games.” He blew on his hands to warm them up. It was freezing in the gym; Donna was wearing gloves and two pairs of socks, and her toes still felt cold. Li had his jacket partially unzipped at the top, revealing a soft-looking scarf sent in by his parents. He constantly fidgeted with it, pulling it up to almost cover his mouth, then pushing it back down.

Theodosius looked like he regretted not having worn his own scarf today. He sat slightly hunched over, trying to hide his chin in his collar. Katz, however, looked perfectly comfortable in just the uniform sweater. “I wonder if that relates to the reason we can’t get some books about military matters,” she mused. “I just realized that the more general a book is, the bigger the time period it covers, the more likely it is that it won’t be allowed.”

“I never realized that,” said Strata. Stein tapped a finger on his yarn, lost in thought.

“You’ve all read _Issues in Cooperation_ , right?” he asked. The small group nodded. That was practically the definitive text on modern international politics. “Have any of you tried to get books on international cooperation _before_ the Cataclysm?”

“I’ve read one or two,” Donna said. “I can see why it took a long time for everyone to try again.” As far as she could tell, everything that had happened in the decades before the Cataclysm was viewed with the deepest cynicism by the world.

Katz stopped crocheting. “I see what you’re getting at,” she said abruptly. Her voice was barely a whisper, and Donna struggled to hear her even though Katz was sitting right behind her. “Remember when that one warden from Four joked that we were giving the world hope? I’m willing to bet that at some point, the nations united to defeat...something. Something like the Games. I bet that they’re not telling us everything about that war.” Donna wasn’t sure if she was following the logic of that statement.

“You’re saying that something like the Games happened but the way it was dealt with caused the Cataclysm?” Theodosius asked. He likewise looked confused.

“Something along those lines,” Stein agreed. “In any case, I think that it wasn’t defeated correctly, or something, and the international organizations they had in place couldn’t deal with it. Like how that United Nations thing was unable to prevent all those wars.”

That still left the question of what exactly had been that Hunger Games-like event or situation. That point had been argued and re-argued endlessly, with the guards silently looking on. Was it because they didn’t care or because the inmates were completely wrong? Donna had no idea.

“I wonder how Paylor fits into this,” Li said, apropos of nothing.

“What do you mean?” Strata asked, speaking for all of them.

“If the world thinks something of us, that means that Paylor is also going to be heavily prominent.”

“If you’ve been reading newspapers recently, kindly share,” Katz asked acidly. “Otherwise, there’s no point in speculating. I bet she’s being held up as a symbol,” she speculated. That was likely. The little news they received clearly showed that the Mockingjay and all the rest of the figureheads of the Rebellion never appeared in the public eye, which left precious few options for a symbol of international magnitude.

Li disagreed. “Don’t amuse my slippers,” he spat. “A head of state who gets re-elected with fifty-two percent of the vote is unlikely to symbolize anything.” Katz looked like she was wondering if she should be offended by someone who had been lower in rank than her speaking in such a way. “If anything, the international community would be leery of any head of state who put her predecessors behind bars.”

“I’m just worried about District cohesion,” Theodosius rushed to change the topic before it could go down the predictable path. “First they’re practically walling themselves off, and now they’re all agreeing on this? I am seriously confused about that.”

“That’s what I was _saying_ ,” Katz said. “Paylor symbolizes unity. She’s the one who took the helm after things fell apart, and now, like it or not, people associate her with that.”

“Then why only fifty-two percent?” Li was insistent. “Perhaps you’re partially right, but that would mean that the system is fraying at the seams. I am not looking forward to what will happen when there’s a minority government.”

As always, Strata asked the expected question. “What do you think will happen then?”

“Fourteen independent countries, that’s what will happen.” Li sounded completely confident. “They’re already on the way there. Remember what happened when Nine and Ten nearly came to blows over boundaries?”

That had happened months ago, though, as always, the inhabitants of the Supermax only found out after the fact. Over the past few years, the District boundaries had been slowly torn down, the pods removed. The issue of new borders was contentious, though. In the far north, the people of the Wilds were allowed to remain as was, the territory not under the control of any particular District, but the issue over how the narrow strips of land that had once divided the Districts would be dealt with was apparently still not settled. Nobody could agree on where borders would lie, and the nomadic groups living there were worried that District encroachment could affect them adversely.

“What happened?” Donna echoed Li. “The directors shook each other’s hands with more enthusiasm than usual at their meeting, that’s what happened.” The guards could be trusted to say that much, if not give the context.

Katz gripped her hook with more force than necessary. “They could only work together when defeating us,” she said. “This won’t last long. They’ll realize that they’re all completely incompatible and abandon this idiotic idea.”

But before that, they’d shoot all of the inmates in their cells. Donna had no illusions about that. “They seem to be working together quite well, though,” she said, mostly to reassure herself. “I’m still convinced that they will hold on to this one thing no matter what.”

* * *

When they stepped outside, the elections were quickly forgotten as the even numbers rushed to share the news. Rodriguez had experienced a heart attack, and his condition was “bad”, though no precise explanation was given.

“We all knew it was coming,” Theodosius said as the two set off down the path. Despite his words, he sounded extremely upset. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

“I hope so, too. He has less than four and a half years left, it would be terrible if he died in here.” 

Theodosius nodded sharply. “They didn’t let Townsend go when he was dying, and they didn’t let Lamay attend his daughter’s funeral.” The former Gamemaker assistant’s daughter had recently died of breast cancer, at the age of just twenty. “I don’t see them reversing their decisions now.”

While the administration had at the very least agreed to hand over the bodies of deceased inmates to their loved ones, Rodriguez’s family needed Rodriguez, not his corpse. “I don’t see why they’re so tough,” Donna said. “What good is a dying old man to them? Not as a symbol, surely, that’ll just backfire as soon as his family finds out.” She wasn’t so sure of her words, though. There had been complaints when Townsend died, and nothing had happened. The campaign had long since petered out, though the incident became one more weapon in the arsenal of sensationalist reporters and the relatives of inmates who hurt their relatives more than helping them by raising a fuss. 

“I doubt his family has enough influence for that,” Theodosius pointed out. That was another important aspect. The former Peacekeepers, except Li, had veterans’ organizations that constantly stuck up for them, while the civilians had to pin their hopes on family members and perhaps ex-coworkers, who ranged from the very influential to not at all. “I remember how a close relative of his got purged, and he was only able to survive because of his closeness to Snow. He had to pretty much repudiate them.”

Donna scuffed lightly at the ground, kicking up bits of snow. “I can’t believe we lived like that.” 

“I can’t believe Paylor never mentioned us,” Theodosius said, changing the topic. “I don’t understand it. First they make it sound like we’re at the forefront of every policy decision, but then, when all of the important issues are being discussed, total silence.”

“Maybe they did talk about us, and we were just never told.” But in that case, what did Livia and Dancer’s silence mean?

Theodosius screwed up his face. “Maybe the world ended out there, and we were just never told,” he spat.

Now that was an idea to haunt her dreams. “I wonder if there were people who only found out about the Cataclysm after it happened.”

“Maybe,” Theodosius said, looking utterly terrified. He glanced around the yard, then looked up to the overcast sky. “I wonder if they lie to us. They’d be able to say whatever they wanted, and we’d have no way of telling what the truth was.”

Donna was about to shrug it off, as she had her clandestine notes, but then she realized that it was the guards who carried them for her. How did she know that they were even real? She doubted she’d be able to tell from the handwriting, and they were too short for her to notice if something was off. She realized that her heart was hammering and her hands were sweating. “Uh-huh,” she said.

“Are you alright?” Theodosius asked, worry evident in his voice.

Taking a deep breath, Donna pretended that everything was fine. “Not something I want to think about,” she explained.

“Same,” Theodosius said. “I know logically that it doesn’t really matter, but the idea of being deceived like that terrifies me.” He didn’t look good either, tense and hunched over. “How do I know that anything they tell us is true?”

“You don’t,” Donna said with a shrug. “What good is worrying when we have no chance of finding out anything, anyway? Either accept what they say, or go insane wondering.” It was easier said than done, though.

Theodosius shook his head. “I wonder if this is what the people in the Districts felt when they watched the news.”

That was a comparison that didn’t bear thinking about. “You know,” she said, “maybe we should complain to Dr. Chu. They’re not trying to mess with us on purpose, after all. Maybe they’ll stop being so strict about information if they find out how badly it’s affecting us.”

“Maybe.”

* * *

Was there just something wrong with her? Plenty of people had managed to figure out the truth while being fed only lies. Why couldn’t she, then, tell if what was being told to her was the truth? Donna opened up the book she had just gotten. In the light of all this, a book where two opposing arguments were given equal merit could be helpful. Next week, she’d ask for something on critical thinking. The words sounded very insulting to her after having heard the phrase ‘why didn’t you think critically about what x really meant’ thrown at her over and over, but the allure of being able to tell if an authority figure was lying to her was strong.

The book was quite thin, maybe two hundred pages or so, and as Donna read the introduction, she was glad she had picked such a fitting topic. It proclaimed to be a debate on whether or not the death penalty was a good thing. Donna herself wasn’t sure, which meant that she could read the two viewpoints, weigh their arguments, and make up her mind. Easy. Now if only everything else was so easy to weigh - and she if only had access to all of the arguments.

According to the introduction, the authors of the articles were a wide variety of people, but none of them had ever been forced to fight for their life in court, which seemed like an oversight. Surely, that was a perspective that could not be overlooked. Donna herself had used to not care one way or the other, but now, she just wasn’t sure. On one hand, she had been ready to receive the supreme penalty, but on the other, she wasn’t sure if she wished those horrible hours before the passing of the sentences on anyone.

Donna resolved to read the book carefully and not accept statements as facts if they looked off. She wasn’t sure how one was supposed to do that, but surely it wasn’t too hard. And in fact, in the very first paragraph, she found a statement that made no sense given her experiences! The author said that nobody would choose death over life, but Best had made an official request asking to be executed. There was also the fact that plenty of people committed suicide, but Donna assumed that the author wasn’t talking about people with mental issues. 

The book went downhill from there. Donna felt sick when she read some of the arguments. They came too close to convincing her that she deserved to be dead.

* * *

A week later, Rodriguez was back in his cell, though he was allowed to sleep as much as he wanted and not work. He was not supposed to be searched, either, but Thirteen insisted. The director from One took offense, and ended up having a screaming row with the director from Thirteen in front of all of the male prisoners.

“It was terrifying,” Theodosius complained as they set off down the path. “I honestly thought they were going to come to blows.”

“They’ve never argued in front of us before,” Donna said. “They must have been really taken by surprise to break their united front like that.” Although, hadn’t they had a few days to figure out what to do? Maybe this was just a particularly bad time for them. Donna shuddered slightly, wondering what sort of things were going on outside the walls. “Is he feeling better today?” She glanced at the old man, who was walking along slowly, supported by Li.

Theodosius shook his head. “Apparently he nearly died last night. Refused to stay in bed, though, demanded that he be allowed to go for a walk, even though I had to help him get dressed.” 

That was a reasonable demand. Nobody could stay in their cell all day without going completely insane, and the weather was quite nice, sunny, still, and just below freezing. “He seems to be walking fine, more or less. Did the directors say anything else? Have they decided what they’re going to do with him?”

“Nothing, that’s what they’re going to do with him. A few of us are going to take turns fetching his meals, cleaning his cell, and whatnot, and Li will help him if he wants to go outside. Other than that, they’re just going to monitor his condition and provide medication.”

Donna glanced behind her. Rodriguez was talking to Li about something, who was nodding along. They looked like a grandfather and grandson out on a walk. “At least it’s not icy today.” There was a thin layer of compacted snow on the ground. 

“Warm, too.” As if to emphasize his words, Theodosius pulled down his scarf from his mouth. He said nothing for a brief while as they passed Williamson and Zelenka, who had stopped to argue about who was at fault for the failure of the Steelworks to meet a certain order in 6 that Donna had never heard about.

“It was a production bottleneck!” Zelenka was saying irritably, waving her hands around. She towered over the average-sized Williamson, who looked completely calm. “If you had been able to just hurry up and get everything into place-”

“But it was Five that took too long to send everything on! We did all we could, but you can’t win with that kind of hand.” Williamson refused to budge, craning her head up with her fists on her hips. “If there was a bottleneck it was in Five, not in Three.”

“Odds it was the fault of both of them?” Donna whispered to Theodosius as soon as they passed out of earshot. He chuckled. Bottlenecks and transport issues had always been a problem. If a product had to be made in two separate Districts, it could be taken for granted that any orders would not be fulfilled on time due to train delays or because something went wrong somewhere down the line, causing a ripple effect of lateness. Before the Rebellion, Donna had always managed to adjust for it, but when she was forced to re-qualify herself into a military engineer, the slightest holdup became catastrophe. Not that it mattered in the end, of course. Even if they had managed to acquire enough food and spare parts, there wouldn’t have been enough people willing to use them. “As far as I remember, if they had spent half the time that went to blaming everything on each other onto actually doing something to improve production, they wouldn’t have been anything to blame each other for.”

Theodosius glanced back at the bickering duo. “As far as I can tell, that was all of production in a nutshell. The middle managers stole so much, I was forced to constantly up quotas so that enough would actually be produced.” He glared at them for a while before turning back to staring ahead of him. “I’m willing to swear I had some run-ins with them, even if I don’t remember it.” His memory wasn’t nearly as good as hers.

“I’m sure they must have all blended together by now,” Donna said sympathetically. “I constantly have this issue where I can recall what was said in a speech, but I have no idea who said it or when it was said unless it provides context.” 

“Well, I know all of my speeches were the exact same, so you might have problems with that.” The same exhortations to produce more, consume less, and work harder in the name of Panem and President Snow, over and over and over again until half the country was sick of it, and the other half simply didn’t have the electricity to watch the speeches. Theodosius had never believed his own words, but it had never stopped him from saying them. “You’re lucky, you know. You have just two speeches to your name, and one of them was two sentences long. Nobody’s going to call you a liar for forgetting if you said something in 72, 73, or 74.” He didn’t sound upset, though. 

Donna shrugged, pulling on her gloves. She always thought she wouldn’t lose warmth as she spent time outside, and was always wrong. “I’ve got problems of my own to deal with,” she said. “I suppose it must be hard for you when people start tossing around names and dates, though.”

“Could be worse,” Theodosius said, pulling his scarf back up to cover his face. “Rodriguez told me this morning he doesn’t expect to leave here unless he’s released early.”

“Huh.” That much had been obvious before, but Rodriguez himself had always seemed cautiously optimistic more than anything. “I guess we’ll see if he gets better.”

They fell silent to let Pitrock jog by, but the former Peacekeeper stopped. “Your friend thinks he’s a home health aide now,” he told Donna with a tinge of sarcasm. “Nearly jumped out of his skin to volunteer to work some more.”

“Why don’t you go harass Li about it?” snapped Theodosius, gesturing with his thumb at the two men who were slowly walking up the path. “Last I checked, he’s the one who came up with the whole idea in the first place.” Pitrock looked at Theodosius strangely, and resumed his jogging. “At least he can’t needle me about this in the meal queue,” he said to Donna with resignation. “That would offend the others.”

“At least there’s that,” Donna said. “You’re trying to do something nice for poor Rodriguez, and he thinks he can insult you over that!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Theodosius said. “Like I said, he’s not going to harass me over it. Funny thing is, he also offered to help out, but we decided that Li should be the one to accompany Rodriguez everywhere, since he’s so much stronger than any of us.”

“That makes sense. Li could pick him up like a ragdoll. With one arm.”

“Exactly. We mere mortals have to content ourselves with sweeping the floor and reading books out loud.” He cracked a small smile. “If I can’t speak tomorrow, that’s the reason.”

“Sounds like you men have gotten the situation under control,” Donna said. “I’m sure Rodriguez will appreciate it.”

Theodosius glanced back. “Well, if he’s going to be forced to remain here, he deserves to be as comfortable as possible. I’ve never heard of anyone being treated like that. I’ve heard of sick inmates being released or transferred to hospitals, and I’ve heard of inmates being completely neglected, but never this odd middle ground. But that’s politics for you, I guess.” The administration wouldn’t let him go, and it wouldn’t mistreat him in any way, shape, or form. Odd, but Theodosius was right. The Supermax ran on politics.


	33. Optimists

“Can you hold this branch, please?” Theodosius asked, one hand on the branch and another on the saw. Donna reached up and grabbed it with both hands, though she had to stand on tiptoe to do so. “Thanks.” He began to saw through the thin branch.

“How far along are you in the report?” Donna asked. She had just finished reading a recently released report on the state of the country. According to it, everything was very slowly getting better.

With a final motion of the saw, the branch broke off, dangling from Donna’s hands. Theodosius picked at the bark. “Actually, I finished it,” he said, breathing heavily. “Good to finally know something about what’s going on out there. I can’t believe that many people are in favour of renaming the country, though.”

That had also struck Donna as odd. “I get that they want a break with the past, but I don’t see how changing the country’s name would help. It doesn’t even make sense! Panem used to be three different countries.” 

Theodosius sank down under the tree among the pruned branches and twigs scattered everywhere. Donna sat down next to him. “Exactly!” Theodosius said. “And why would you want call a country ‘the united _states_ ’ when it’s made up of districts? Unless they’re planning to rename that, too.” He fanned himself with his cap and ran his hand through his hair. “You know, this almost makes me feel sorry for everyone being released soon. They won’t even know what country they’re in.”

Donna cracked a small smile. “It’s important for you, too. How will you know where you are?”

“That’s already an issue,” Theodosius complained. “All those towns and villages are being given actual names, so when I thought I was in Settlement Fifty-Nine, I was actually in Huchsduwachsdu. And the names keep on changing constantly, so I can’t just beg a new atlas from them or something.”

“Where’s that?” she asked. “What’s it like?”

Theodosius suddenly looked much calmer. “It’s a coastal town at the base of the mountains in northern Seven, or whatever Seven is going to be called now if the reformers win. Five thousand people. They mostly fish. I’m walking down the coast now, and it’s chilly and damp. Good thing I have my new boots!” He glanced down at his feet. His old shoes had been completely worn apart, and the administration had given him a nice pair of hiking boots instead of the prison footwear he had worn before. “A while back as we were walking, I saw a ship pass by. They were bringing in the catch. Right now, it’s already being processed. Who knows, maybe if there’s fish in our food next week, it will be from there.”

“Huh.” The absent look on Theodosius’ face made Donna wish she could escape as he did. “Did you see any people?” she asked, not wanting to snap him back to the present.

“No, not today. It’s a pretty sparsely populated place I’m walking through. Once I get further south, though, I should pass through populated areas every day.” 

“And do the people of the Wilds frequent the coast?” Who was even pretending for whose benefit here? Dr. Chu always delighted in discussing those walks.

Theodosius picked at a small branch, tearing off the bark. “Not on District territory. North of it, though, there are many coastal towns and villages, even a city or two. They trade a lot with Asian countries. Nomadic groups do go to Seven to trade, though. I saw an official meeting between the leaders of Seven and the people of the Wilds. They’re worried that now that the barrier is gone, Seven will encroach on their territory.”

“That seems like a reasonable fear.”

“Yeah. I’m reading about the history of the North Pacific right now,” Theodosius said, snapping back to the present and looking slightly sad. “Way back when, the people living there were really badly treated by the invaders who came to colonize. Many were killed, and their land was stolen. It’s not exactly the same people this time around, but I guess the fear is the same. They don’t want to be forced to live on someone else’s terms.” While many of the people of the Wilds in the far north had been living in the area for thousands of years, the areas in Panem proper had also been home to defectors who would not or could not get to Thirteen or leave the continent.

“Now that you’ve explained it, maybe I’ll be able to help my kids with their history assignments,” Donna joked. 

Theodosius chuckled as he continued to strip the twig of its bark. “How are they doing?” he asked.

“Same as always,” she said, sounding resigned. It was hard to believe that her eldest was going to be turning sixteen soon, and it was even harder to believe that she was averaging a low C. “At this rate, Donna is never going to get anywhere.”

“She’s finishing up, uh, grade ten?” Theodosius asked. Donna nodded, though she herself often struggled to remember. “Huh. I guess she doesn’t have a fitting name then, not at all.” 

Donna wasn’t so sure about that. “At this point, I’m convinced she’s doing it on purpose. With my example being dangled in her face constantly, it’s no wonder she’s reluctant to achieve anything.” That idea had been suggested by Dr. Chu. It was a very unpleasant thought, and Donna had refused to discuss it further, though it simmered in her mind. Had she destroyed her own daughter’s chance at a good life? “You said your kids weren’t doing so well, either.”

“They’re not doing too bad, either,” Theodosius said. “And they’re still quite small, so it’s not that big of a deal.” He smiled slightly at her. “I’m very glad I have your mistakes to learn from. Cynthia’s going to be shocked when I start giving her good advice.”

“You forget that they’re practically living on top of each other.”

“She’ll still be shocked that I know anything,” Theodosius insisted.

Donna began to lay out the clippings in a nice pattern. “So, how are they doing in school?” she asked.

“Nothing to complain about. Cassius and Marcus are constantly asking after me, though.” They were four years old.

Donna wondered if Octavius had figured it out yet. Her youngest son was just a year older than Theodosius’ twin boys. “Do you know what’s happening there?” she asked.

“One of them asked Cynthia where I was. She didn’t want to give them false hope, so she said I won’t be back for another twenty-two years.” Theodosius looked utterly miserable. “Now they’re constantly pestering her, asking over and over, as if they think the answer will change. I don’t think they miss me, though. I left too early.”

Looking around the yard, Donna tried to think of something to distract him. “We really should pick up these clippings,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go get rakes.” Theodosius slowly climbed to his feet, holding the saw and rocking back and forth on his heels.

“I love these boots,” he said, not for the first time. As they began walking towards the shed, he continued talking about his kids. “Primus is going to visit soon, so I’ll be able to wish him a happy birthday.” His eldest son was turning thirteen in a week or so.

“Well, tell him to tell everyone I say hi.”

“Of course.”

They slowly walked down the path, enjoying the nice, cool weather. The soft breeze was borderline chilly but still pleasant, and the sun was shining brightly. While the soles of their boots were covered with mud, the grass under the trees had prevented that from happening to their clothes. Donna was reminded of how plants could be used to prevent soil erosion. She kicked at the ground, trying to shake off the mud, and only got more mud on her shoe. They regularly covered the path with gravel, but it disappeared somewhere just as fast. There were several patches of bare mud that one could slip on if they didn’t have good balance.

Up ahead of them, Rodriguez had solved the problem of the muddy path differently. He walked slowly, leaning carefully on his cane, and had Li at his side just in case. As Donna and Theodosius caught up to them, they could hear what the older man was saying.

“They’re having fights over what to do with me, can you believe it?” he asked. Li made a vague gesture that could have been either a nod or a shake of the head. “According to them, though, there’s been some movement.” Now that was interesting. Donna and Theodosius sped up slightly to catch up to them and show that they wanted to join the conversation.

“Good day, Mr. Rodriguez, Mr. Li,” Theodosius said, nodding slightly to both of them. “What kind of movement?”

Rodriguez stopped, both hands on his cane. He didn’t look like a dying man, unless the clear signs of old age counted. He stood straight and his dark eyes were alert. “They’re pressuring to have me released for humanitarian reasons. After all, they don’t want to send the sort of message that keeping a sick old man in prison sends.”

What Donna actually wanted to know was the identity of the mysterious ‘they’. His answer, however, invited the logical counterargument of “But people tried to have Townsend released, too, and that didn’t work. I’m worried that now that they’ve established precedent, they’ll stick to it.”

“Once can be seen as a one-off thing. It just needs to be prevented from turning into a pattern.” While Donna agreed that Rodriguez needed to be released, she wasn’t as optimistic as him. She had requested Livia and Dancer to get her old colleagues to do some gentle nudging on behalf of her, to no avail. While Rodriguez had the advantage of ill health, which would sway more people to his side, whether the administration would care was still up in the air.

“I assume your wife told you about this?” Theodosius asked. They resumed walking, though slowly, keeping pace with Rodriguez. He glanced around before answering.

“More or less,” he said. “There are still people out there who haven’t forgotten us.” 

While it appeared that the Supermax was no longer the focus of attention, that would not last long. Donna had realized that once the releases started, the way everyone viewed the prison would change. Even having someone be released after serving their sentence would appear as if the inmates were leaking through the fingers of the administration. “You might need to hurry, then,” she said. “There are two years until the first releases, and who knows how the people making decisions will react when they see people walking out of those gates.” Donna glanced in the direction of Westfield, Groat, and Kim, three of the five who would be the first to leave the Supermax if the administration clamped down.

Li nodded. “I hope that one won’t get in the way of the other,” he said. “They already said that time served won’t be counted.” Sentences officially had begun the day they were pronounced, and not a second earlier.

“I don’t think anyone was seriously counting on that,” Theodosius pointed out. 

“I was hoping they might use it as an easier way to get me released sooner,” Rodriguez said with a slight shrug. “But at the end of the day, I don’t think one year less will solve anything. I doubt I’ll still be around to potentially walk out with the Gamemaker assistants.” He seemed completely at ease with the fact, but Donna still felt awkward. Unsure of what to say, she said nothing.

Theodosius picked a different approach. “Could you tell us more about the people who might be willing to demand your release?” he asked.

“Not much,” he said. “My wife isn’t able to say much in her letters.” He sounded completely sincere, but Donna was convinced that he was lying. Otherwise, he would have been more forthcoming with who the ‘they’ were. His family? Former coworkers? A particularly influential individual? “Reading between the lines, though, I think they’re moderately successful so far.”

If only they were able to speak without the fear of being overheard. Close by, two guards were leaning against the wall, noses in books. Were they eavesdropping? That much was obvious. The real question was how much they would be willing to overlook. “I’m glad for you,” she said. “Are there no other details, though?” She wanted to know, if only to see if there was anything she herself could use.

“No.”

On the other hand, she could probably just ask Livia and Dancer to do some investigating on their own and see what sort of methods were the most successful. While they didn’t reply to her actual questions three-quarters of the time, Donna was certain that they read all of her messages. “Well, at least you know there’s hope,” she said.

“It might even be less stressful to not have to know about minor setbacks,” Theodosius pointed out.

Li lightly patted Rodriguez on the back. “Exactly. Anyway, the nation is apparently in better shape than it ever was. They’re not going to care about vengeance when they have an economic miracle to enjoy.” They came to a stop outside the shed.

“Oh, have you also finished reading the report?” Theodosius asked. 

“Not quite,” Li said. “I have read the sections on health and the economy, though. I am very concerned about how international trade might affect the country.”

Donna’s knowledge of foreign trade came exclusively from books about the twentieth century and was extremely scant. “You mean potentially having people from other countries own businesses and whatnot here?” In a few history books, she had read about how outsourcing and globalization had ended up backfiring on the people who had been the most vulnerable. “I think it heavily depends on the government.”

“That much is obvious,” Li said. “I understand that self-sufficiency was an unsustainable myth-” now that was a pleasant surprise “-but I’m worried about the ramifications of letting foreign business interests into the country.”

Rodriguez looked like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to disagree with the first part or agree with the second more. He stood silently for a few seconds, tapping his fingers on his cane. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a myth,” he said. “If Snow hadn’t gone down the path of de-diversification, there wouldn’t have been all those bottlenecks and vulnerable areas.”

“Even before Snow, it was already as un-diverse as anything,” Theodosius argued. “Remember the famine of 31-32?”

Donna was fairly sure that the question was supposed to have been rhetorical, but Rodriguez took it literally. “I didn’t know about it,” he said. “I was, what, forty back then? I wasn’t very high ranked, though. All I knew was that there was a rash of firings and arrests in the ministries of agriculture and resources.” It was always a shock to realize that a few of her fellow inmates were old enough to remember the First Rebellion. “McCollum tried to keep the panic down, suppressed all knowledge. I only found out about it decades later, when I started spinning in the right circles.”

“Wow,” Li said. “That’s fascinating.”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” Rodriguez said. “Shame they’re not telling us much about the Ministers’ Trial. I’m sure they’ve talked about all of that in great detail.” That trial had begun while theirs was something like halfway through, and the final statements would be given any day now. 

“That will be the last of the inter-District trials, right?” Donna asked. When everyone nodded, she added “The end of an era!” in a sarcastic tone. The individual Districts would still continue to hold trials, but anyone who had committed crimes in various places would be handed over to the Capitol depuration tribunals if they couldn’t decide on who would try them.

Li chuckled. “All I want to know is what everyone thinks of this,” he said, turning serious. “I’d sell my soul for a newspaper!”

“I don’t even know what I’d do if it got me access to the Web,” Donna agreed. The other two nodded.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose,” Rodriguez said. “Or rather, you’ll have to wait and see!” He laughed, and Donna had no idea how much of his mirth was real. “By the way, so what was in that report?” The library hadn’t had enough copies to give one to all of the inmates, who had seized their chance once it had been revealed that it technically did not contain any forbidden information. Dry numbers on average birthweight and how many people were occupied in what industry were apparently allowed.

“The way the authors phrased it, you’d have thought that the country’s climbing out of the abyss millimetre by millimetre with its teeth, but the numbers are insane.” Donna shook her head slightly.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Li said. “It’s not anything like the annual reports from before, though. No offense, Mr. Coll, but even I could tell there was something off there.”

“None taken,” Theodosius said. “You, after all, had lived in Two. Unlike Snow.” The figures had mostly been falsified as part of the never-ending attempts to curry favour with the president.

“Very true,” said Li, nodding. “They compared us, then and now, with the world average, and also compared individual Districts to the world and each other. Made a huge deal about the destruction of the nukes, too. In any case, if you look at just the comparison with the world, we look like total trash. Even now, our progress looks pretty weak when compared to how everyone else is doing. I’m certain that if Mr. Coll here had ever written something similar in a report, Stonesmith would have been notified immediately.” Donna chuckled slightly at the rather unfunny joke.

Rodriguez looked taken aback. “And they just published that?” he asked. “Aren’t they worried it’ll make them look bad?”

Donna had also thought about that. While the improvement since 74 looked extremely impressive, it wasn’t all economic miracles, and in some places the country was actually doing worse than before even with the several years of reconstruction and humanitarian aid. “I think that everyone’s more interested in honesty than in nice numbers,” Theodosius pointed out. “When you’re used to everyone saying that everything is good when you can see that it is terrible, it is probably a great relief to have an authority figure admit there is a problem.”

“Plus, identifying problem areas means it will be easier to tackle them,” Li added. “It’s like an indirect promise. ‘This, this, and this is terrible, and we will fix it.’”

“That makes sense,” Rodriguez said. “I look forward to reading the report. Finally, someone will explain to me what’s going on out there!”

It wasn’t actually that useful. “It’s not really meant for that,” Donna explained. “It’s nice to find out all those things, but mortality rates won’t tell you much about what sort of moods are circulating in society. That’s an entirely different report, and we’re not going to get our hands on it.” She had already asked Livia and Dancer to forward any opinion polls to her. So far, nothing except a little article that stated that opinions on the trials were becoming more negative. Donna had absolutely no idea why that was the case all of a sudden (fatigue? Desire to see it over and done with? Revanchism?), and not being able to discuss it with anyone just irritated her further.

“Still, at least it will be something.”

“That it is,” Li agreed. “Why are we even here?” he asked, looking at the open door of the shed.

“We need to get rakes and the wheelbarrow,” Theodosius said.

“We won’t hold you up, then,” Rodriguez said. He nodded to them and continued walking, Li by his side.

Donna and Theodosius walked into the shed. First, they dragged out the small wheelbarrow, which was always an ordeal. It only fit through the door in one specific way. They got the rakes out next. Thus armed, they made their way towards the trees they had just been working on and began to pick up larger branches and toss them into the wheelbarrow. Here and there on the trees, the absence of a particularly large branch could be seen from the green liquid they had smeared on the wood to protect it. 

“Hopefully this will improve the yields,” Theodosius muttered as he bent down to pick up a branch. “You, tree, give us some nuts already, alright? You’ve got as much use as the saplings, and at least they have potential!” The walnut tree did not respond to the demand, though its branches did sway slightly in the breeze.

“Isn’t it supposed to start producing right around this year?” Donna asked, using the rake to gather together the smaller twigs she didn’t want to have to bend over and pick up. “I’d love to be able to actually eat some nuts.” So far, there was only one mature walnut tree, and the guards had raided it so well the previous years, Donna had only gotten to try them once or twice.

Tossing a handful of branches into the wheelbarrow, Theodosius agreed enthusiastically. “I just want to be able to eat food I grew myself. Seriously, there hasn’t been rationing for years, what’s this obsession with not letting us eat anything?”

Donna glanced to the side, thinking that a guard standing there had said something, but they seemed to be engrossed in their textbook. “Did they say something?” Theodosius whispered.

“No, I think I’m just hearing things,” she whispered back.

* * *

That afternoon, Rodriguez’s chances at release or their lack thereof was the main topic of discussion. As Best argued with Verdant about whose fault it really had been that the Rebellion had succeeded (Donna had no idea how they had managed to get to that topic), Vartha tried to pester Donna into saying something he could take offense to. They sat or crouched near the sinks, ostensibly washing their hands.

“I am telling you for approximately the millionth time, society will be glad to forget us!” Donna exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “The more time passes, the more forgetting. If Rodriguez doesn’t get out now, he never will.” 

“But didn’t you just say that releases will increase interest in us?” Vartha asked.  
Donna sighed. “That’s not what I meant. Yes, people will be regularly reminded of us, but the sight of us walking free will probably encourage a desire to keep the rest of us in here for as long as possible.”

“I, for one, think it all depends on what they say when they get out.” Rodriguez having returned early to his cell to rest, Li could now hover around and chat. Theodosius was with the old man, leaving Donna alone in the yard. “If they kick up a fuss, it will polarize society – and not in our favour.”

“Exactly,” Donna said. “It all depends on what the people think, and that can change. For now, though, it appears that we’re slowly being forgotten. Maybe Rodriguez’s family will be able to kick up a big enough fuss. Maybe once Westfield and Groat and the rest of them get out, they’ll say something really out there and draw a lot of attention.” 

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, then.” Li crouched down, shaking water from his hands. “People are a fickle bunch.” He turned around suddenly to face Katz and Fourrer, who were discussing military history. “You know, that made no sense to me. First they’re at each other’s throats for decades, and then they’re best friends all of a sudden? I can’t believe such an ideological conflict faded away so quickly.”

“They were some of the hardest hit during the Cataclysm,” Fourrer pointed out. “If it scared the world into nuclear disarmament, it could have scared them out of the conflict.”

“But why not in Western Europe, then?” Li asked. “They’re still at each other’s throats constantly.” Western Europe had been one of the parts of the world most destroyed by the Cataclysm.

Katz nodded. “That’s exactly what I was saying. There has to be a more specific reason.”

“But that’s the thing, Western Europe wasn’t embroiled in active conflict at the time! It’s like they switched. The Middle East became peaceful, while Western Europe unraveled at the seams.” Li leaned against the pipe slightly as he talked.

“So you agree with me, then?” Katz asked. “There was a situation-specific reason at play there.” Li nodded.

Fourrer rubbed at his face. “If you dig deep enough, every situation is unique.”

“And how do you think foreign influences will affect our position?” Vartha asked quietly. Donna turned away from the arguing former Peacekeepers to face him.

“No idea,” she said. “As far as I can tell, we’re a completely unprecedented case. I’m sure different countries perceive us differently.”

“I’m sure you’ve got some ideas, though,” Vartha insisted. Donna was temporarily saved from having to answer by the fact that it was time for dinner. The two of them went their separate ways. After a perfunctory search that amounted to nothing more than a brief pat-down and a check to see if there was anything in her pockets, Donna stepped inside the corridor, where the temperature was the exact same as outside, though there was no breeze.

Donna took off her boots at the door, not wanting to track mud into her cell. The floor was freezing cold against her socked feet, but there were only a few steps until she could sit down on her cot and pull on her other shoes. Even though the air temperature was quite pleasant, everything felt freezing to the touch. It didn’t seem fair that it had to actually be hot outside for the toilet to not be painfully cold. Donna wiped her hands on her towel, which also felt cold to the touch, and sat down to read a book on the history of engineering as she waited for dinner.

Finally, some warmth. Donna could feel the heat of the buckwheat with vegetables through the metal tray as she walked back to her cell. The tea, however, was cold; Donna suspected it was room temperature. She had recently sent on the record of what food had been given to them, and hadn’t started a new one. A part of her wanted to determine long-term trends, while another didn’t feel motivated enough to waste an entire sheet of paper on it. 

She finished eating and rinsed off the tray and spoon in the sink. After it was handed back and the door locked behind her for the night, Donna positioned herself comfortably on her cot and reached for a book. That was an advantage of living in such a small space - she could reach everything while lying in bed.

After finishing her reading, Donna began to write a brief letter to Dem. She warned him to not try to kick up a fuss in the media, and instructed him to simply point out the five children he had to take care of if asked. Anything more serious would probably backfire. After hiding the scrap of paper, she started on a sudoku. Donna had asked for a book of difficult sudokus, and the censors had delivered. Every single puzzle in the book was extremely challenging, though just barely doable. She leaned back against the wall, book propped against her knees, and slowly filled in the grid with numbers.


	34. Explanation

The wrinkled sheet of paper stared at Donna, accusing her. Book propped open on her knees to hide it, she read and reread the words written by Lars. The letter was handwritten, not printed. Had he been worried that someone else might be able to find it if he wrote in on the computer?

_The people in the Ministers’ Trial were just sentenced, so I guess this is on my mind now. I read all the stuff that they said there, but the more I read, the less I understand. Could all that really have happened just a few years ago? It seems insane. I think I kind of understand why it happened in the first place, but not why it kept going for so long. I do not understand. Why did you join them? I mean, you knew you were working on the Hunger Games. And what did you know about the way the District people were treated? What made you think it was a good idea? -Lars_

How was she supposed to answer those questions? It was hard enough when Dr. Chu made her contemplate them, but her own son? Donna’s first instinct was to simply tell him to ask again in a few years, but then she remembered that to a twelve-year-old, events from five years ago may as well have taken place in a different century. Just eight years old during the Rebellion, he hadn’t been aware of what was going on in the background, as Dem had tried to shield the kids from the chaos outside as much as possible.

Not answering was not an option, but how to answer? Donna decided to ask Theodosius and Dr. Chu. She could always spin it as a hypothetical ‘how am I supposed to explain this to my kids’ kind of scenario to the psychologist.

* * *

“I honestly cannot believe it!” Katz practically shouted at Strata, Hope, and Gold. “Faking catatonia? Really?”

The news had gotten to the Supermax. After hearing her sentence, Yark, the former deputy minister of economics, had gone to her cell, lain down on her cot - and shut off. According to two separate guards, she hadn’t as much as twitched since. Warden Vance and Tiller, his deputy, were utterly furious at the development.

“I think that takes the cake,” Donna told Theodosius. She had meant to ask Theodosius for advice on how to answer her son’s letter, but Yark was proving to be a welcome distraction. “How long do you think she’ll be able to keep it up for?”

“I’m just shocked nobody had tried something similar before,” Theodosius said, “but I doubt it’ll work. I’m sure they’ll carry her to the gallows if necessary.” 

It was kind of funny that instead of focusing on the actual trial, everyone was now discussing Yark and whether or not she was faking. Usually, it was extremely irritating when everyone focused on juicy gossip instead of the important matters, but this time, Donna couldn’t help but laugh with the others. “There’s a difference between hanging someone who just fainted, and hanging someone who has been unresponsive for weeks. That is, if she keeps it up that long.”

“Then I guess they’ll snap her out of it.” Theodosius shrugged stiffly, rubbing at his upper arm. “Ouch,” he hissed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Fell down the stairs yesterday. Now I’m sore all over.” The previous day, Theodosius had mopped the corridor. He must have slipped when going to fetch something.

Donna looked at Theodosius. He seemed to be walking fine. “Is it bad?” she asked.

He nodded. “I woke up this morning and could barely move. If I’m not halfway functional by the afternoon, I’ll ask for painkillers. I should have asked last night, but I felt fine then.”

“Wait, did you fall down an entire flight of stairs?” Donna asked, concerned. She doubted that anyone could feel fine after doing so, except maybe Li.

“Oh, no, no, only partway. I slipped on a puddle at the very top, and skidded down a few steps. Landed on the bucket, though, that didn’t help.” He raised and lowered his arms, stretching them. “Ow. Anyway, I must say I’m impressed with Yark, assuming she’s faking. Lying motionless for so long, that’s way worse than what any of us have here.”

“I’m also shocked that nobody tried something similar before,” Donna said. “With the way everyone but Best did everything they could to slip the noose, you’d have thought that someone would fake mental illness at some point.”

Theodosius glanced at Best, who was strolling along the path with Verdant. “You know, I never did ask him why he requested death,” he whispered. “I keep on meaning to, but it feels too awkward.”

“I think that what we heard was the truth,” Donna whispered back. “At his age, having your entire world fall apart around you must be so much worse.”

“Well, maybe.” There was a pause, which grew longer and longer. Donna braced herself and asked the question.

“My son wrote me a letter,” she said, words tumbling out, “and I have no idea how to answer it.”

“The eldest one, I’m assuming? Lars?” 

Donna nodded. “He was reading about the Ministers’ Trial, and wants to know why I was involved with that.”

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair. Then he ran his other hand through his hair, nearly knocking his cap off. “Isn’t he only twelve?” he asked.

“That’s what I was thinking, too,” Donna said. “Since Donna’s not interested in any of that stuff, I thought I’d have a few more years to think of answers to these questions, but-” she shrugged.

Looking slightly ashen, Theodosius rubbed at his shoulders self-consciously. “Maybe I should start thinking, too,” he said. “How am I supposed to explain it to my own children? They don’t know what it’s like to live like that, except maybe your Donna, but even she was still too young to be able to understand our position.”

“I think that’s for the better,” Donna said. “Adult children can make their own way, and the very little children can grow up in an entirely new world. The teenagers, though, will have partially formed under the Games regime, and partially - under democracy. I’ve read about child immigrants,” she explained to an astonished Theodosius. “In a certain age range, the odds are very high that the individual will be of both cultures simultaneously. I think a similar thing will apply here.”

“Uh, that still doesn’t help,” Theodosius pointed out. “There’s still the issue of explaining to Lars how we lived. Did he ever see the live feed of the Games?”

“No, Dem thought it would be best to only start showing it to the kids once they turned twelve. I think he never saw it from the same perspective as us. He went straight from a child’s view to the modern one, but he’s still a child. Seventy-five years means nothing to him, not when there are the five that followed.” Donna racked her brain, trying to remember if Lars ever said anything about the Games. As far as she could recall, he had asked if she had worked on some random aspect of the Arena, and nothing else. “I can’t try to ask him to use his own situation, he’s aware that they were completely different.”

Theodosius stopped suddenly. “You’ve explained it to the psychologist, have you not?” he asked. Feeling slightly sick, Donna shook her head. She could see where this was going.

“He’s twelve years old,” she said desperately. “He can’t understand ambiguity. He won’t be able to understand it.”

“If he’s old enough to ask, he’s old enough to know,” Theodosius said, not quite meeting her eyes. “Now I’m scared!” he laughed nervously, arms shoved deep into his pockets. “Is Primus going to interrogate me next?” There were tears in his eyes. “He’s the same age, after all.”

Donna continued walking, and Theodosius followed her. “I’m worried he’ll misinterpret my words,” she confessed. “I don’t want him to have the wrong impression of me.”

Theodosius was still laughing quietly. “Maybe it would be better if I never came home,” he said. He sounded downright hysterical and his face was bright-red.

“You’ve talked to Cynthia, right?” Donna asked, trying to think of a way to get him to calm down. Theodosius nodded. “And you’ve gotten letters.”

“Look, I’m not completely falling apart here,” he said. “I know that if they had wanted, they could have pretended I didn’t exist as easy as anything. But the thought of having to explain myself to my own children makes me want to sink through the ground.” He took a few steps towards the wall. “Do you mind if we sit down?” he asked, motioning at her. Donna sat down next to him on the grass, which was damp with dew. Theodosius raised his eyes to look at her, arms wrapped around his knees. He was cringing in pain.

“I think you’re right,” she admitted. “If he’s old enough to ask those kinds of questions, if he’s capable of comprehending how it all started, he should be able to understand my answers.” Would he hate her for it?

If she told the truth, and he hated her for what she said, then she deserved it.

It was a sickening thought. Why had she even sent in that stupid application in the first place? That horrible gnawing feeling was back, making her drop her gaze and stare at her feet, face hot. “I guess I’ll do that,” she continued. Theodosius was rubbing at his face, staring at the ground with a perplexed expression. “Do you want to keep on walking?” she asked.

Theodosius shook his head. Well, Donna wasn’t very eager to move around, either. They kept on sitting silently for a while until a guard from Five approached them. “Are you two alright?” she asked, concern evident in her voice. 

“Yes, yes,” the two replied, doffing their caps but not standing up.

“Why are you sitting, then? You need to keep moving. I know you two want to stay healthy.” Putting their caps back on, Donna and Theodosius climbed to their feet and continued walking down the path. It was true, they spent nearly all their time in the cell sitting down, and only got an hour outside when the weather was bad. They needed to seize every chance they could to move around. 

Donna had a realization. “I should tell him to read the book Aurelius and Mallow wrote. It should explain everything.”

“Really?” Theodosius asked sceptically. “I’m not sure they quite grasped how society worked.”

“He doesn’t need a detailed insight into backroom intrigue,” Donna pointed out, “just the day-to-day functioning he is already more or less familiar with. Plus, they captured my thoughts accurately, so I won’t have to explain everything to him.” She sighed. “Well, that’s a plan, at least. Are you feeling better?”

“Neither mentally nor physically,” Theodosius joked in a strained voice. “Let’s go listen to Vartha complain about Yark.” It could generally be expected that if there was something to complain about, Vartha would do it. Donna, who also needed a change of topic, hurried up slightly to catch up to Vartha, who was talking with a small group of others, all either lifers or with very long sentences. He was holding a piece of paper and a pen.

“They’ll hang her,” Kadka was saying. “It’ll make a mockery of them to do otherwise.” Vartha carefully wrote something down, holding the paper against his palm with the other hand. “Good morning, Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll,” he said to them, “and what do you think?”

Was Vartha performing a survey? “I agree with you, Mr. Kadka,” Theodosius said. “She was tried and sentenced, it’s too late to pretend to be insane.”

“I doubt it,” Donna disagreed. “If someone’s incapable of understanding why they’re being taken to the gallows, they can’t be executed. She’ll be executed the moment they snap her out of it, and not before.”

“Uh-huh,” Vartha said, writing quickly. “How long do you think she’ll keep it up for?”

Donna didn’t have the slightest idea. “If it gets her execution stayed? Indefinitely, for all I know. Or maybe she’ll go crazy from boredom. Or maybe the doctors will figure out a way to prove she’s faking.”

“Are you performing a survey?” Theodosius asked. 

Vartha nodded. “I’m writing down if people think she’ll be executed with the others, and if no, what will happen to her. Some of the guards actually think she’s not faking, by the way. What do you bet you’re right?”

That explained why nobody in the little cluster was getting out in sooner than fifteen years, assuming the worst. If potential answers included indefinite hospitalization, it could be decades until something changed. Donna glanced around before whispering her answer. “Cookies, or something.”

“Sounds good. And you, Mr. Coll?”

“Uh, put me down for something edible as well.” Donna glanced at the paper in Vartha’s hand. There was a table with four columns neatly written out; none of the columns were labelled. The first contained the number of the individual, with a letter to signify gender and whether they were an inmate or a guard (given that there were multiple guards with the same District origin and gender, this was bound to become very confusing). The next contained if they thought Yark would hang with the other condemned (either a ‘Y’ or an ‘N’), the third featured what they thought her fate would be if they thought she would live a little longer, and the fourth also featured a single letter. ‘F’ was presumably food, a question mark meant indecision, and ‘A’ - alcohol, while the other letters were a mystery. None of the guards mentioned had that column filled in, for obvious reasons.

“If she lives a long time, many of the guards will be gone by then,” Donna pointed out.

“If that does happen, I’ll just cross them off the list. I’ll have to warn the assistants, though, that if they’re out of here by then and we aren’t, they can buy their own booze and candy.” The group shared a laugh. Most of the former Gamemaker assistants would be the first to leave. “Now, Ms. Hope, Mr. Li, are you still thinking?”

“I have my answer,” Hope said. “They’re keeping Smith and Hryb here, and Rodriguez too. There’s nothing stopping them from hanging Yark.”

As Vartha wrote that down, Li disagreed. “It’s different. I’m sure half the world knows by now about Yark, and she has definitively been proven unresponsive. I think that once the sentences of the lesser so-called criminals are being reviewed, they’ll quietly do the same thing with her.” He paused. “Assuming, of course, that they don’t figure out a way to snap her out of it. Honestly, I can see two paths-”

“And which one do you favour?” Vartha asked pointedly.

Li didn’t look happy at the thought of having to make a decision. “The first one, I guess,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get anything, though. I’d love to make you all hats or something, but I don’t think the administration will allow that.”

“Uh-huh,” Vartha said, “we’ll put it down as a question mark for now. And what about you, Ms. Hope? What do you bet?”

“I think I might be able to get my hands on a bottle of something strong. How many people will be able to win at once?”

“No idea,” Vartha said cheerfully, “I’ve only been able to ask five guards and ten prisoners so far. It seems, though, that roughly half think she will be hanged with the rest. So in that situation, I don’t even know how we’ll distribute all the alcohol without someone ending up passed out right in front of a guard or something.” Out of the ten inmates, three had wagered alcohol. Assuming the pattern held, that was eighteen or so in total, and nine who could lose at once if Yark was executed as originally planned. Donna found herself hoping that wouldn’t happen, if only for the reason that she had never actually drunk alcohol, and thus had no use for it. “Alright, I’m going to go ask the rest now.” He strolled off in the direction of a small cluster of former Peacekeepers.

“Now I’m curious to see the final tally,” Theodosius said.

“Same,” Li agreed. “By the way, Pitrock offered to stay with Rodriguez this afternoon, so you can plant your potatoes right on schedule.”

“I’ll have to thank him, then.” Once Theodosius’ laps were walked, that was what they would be doing. “He didn’t look too bad this morning, though, got dressed just fine on his own. Do you think he’ll stay inside all day today?”

The three of them were walking together now. “After you practically sprinted into the yard, he complained of weakness and got back into bed. The orderly was called, but Wolf was with him, so I didn’t hang around.”

One of those days, they’d move him to the infirmary, that miserable little space that had been created by joining three cells together. Then, it would be a sign that the beginning of the end had begun. Just like with Townsend. “The orderly is called every day,” Donna pointed out, “that in and of itself is hardly cause for concern. What exactly is wrong with him?”

“Aside from the usual?” Li asked. “No idea. ‘Weakness’ could be a hundred different things. When we get back for lunch, I’ll ask him what’s wrong.”

“Probably Wolf’s war stories,” Theodosius joked. “Rodriguez will probably rise from his bed and go outside just to get away from them.”

Li chuckled. “I know I would. Now, will you excuse me? I need to run my laps.”

“By all means,” Donna said enviously. One second, Li was standing still. The next, he was running at a pace Donna would have struggled to maintain for a few seconds, and that was his jogging speed. Li was nearly fifty, but any one of the guards would have found it impossible to outfight or outrun him. Donna wasn’t sure if she should be jealous of his skill or happy that she could pretend she was still in peak shape, with Li as an example of what could not be achieved, ever. Her morning stretches were nothing compared to his feats of strength. “Maybe one day, he’ll run up the walls and run out of here,” she told Theodosius.

“What about the barbed wire?”

“I’m sure he’ll find a way. Although,” Donna remembered, “Stonesmith is on the other side of the wall. Maybe he won’t.” The head of the Death Squad was still missing without trace. The general assumption was that either she was living under an assumed name in the Capitol as a strip-mall guard or something, or somewhere on the other side of the world. One of the Supermax’s inhabitants, though, was very afraid of her alleged desire to get revenge on the one member of her squad who had not faced death with dignity. That was, if she was even in the country. Frequent reports placed her everywhere from Siberia to Mozambique to Argentina. “I wonder where the press thinks she is now,” she mused.

“Last time it was Northern Asia, right? Maybe it will be South America this time.” 

“She must really be spending a lot on hovercraft tickets,” Donna joked. “But seriously, what idiot thought she would be in Northern Asia? Have the journalists never seen a photograph of her? At least she wouldn’t look out of place in South America.”

“Even there, though, it depends on country, and whether urban or rural. She’ll be sticking to cities, it’s easier to blend in there, but still.” Theodosius gnashed his teeth slightly. “I wonder what she tells her children.” A recent report had announced that the Stonesmith children and their father had moved away to an unknown destination. A desire to get away from it all, or a desire to rejoin Stonesmith? The guards could always be counted on to give updates on her, if only to watch them all squirm at the thought of someone being free while they were not.

“I’m sure our children will be better off in the long run,” Donna said. “They’ll actually understand what happened.”

Rolling his shoulders back slightly and cringing, Theodosius concurred. “Very true.”

“After all,” Donna continued, “it’s very easy to explain the ‘what’. ‘I did something bad and I’m being punished for it.’ Even Octavius can understand that. It’s the ‘why’ that I can’t explain. Stonesmith has it the other way around. Her kids will have such a skewed understanding of everything.”

Theodosius cringed even more as he tried to bring his shoulders back further. “Ow! Yes, I see that.”

In the distance, Li was doing pushups at a lightning pace. When Donna had tried to do some in the relative privacy of her cell, she had collapsed after the first one. “I see him every single day, and I still can’t believe he’s real,” Donna said.

“You’ve said that before,” Theodosius pointed out.

“Well, it’s still true.”

* * *

Slowly, Donna wrote a reply on the back of the sheet.

_Dear Lars,_

_I must say that it took me a long time to think of how to answer your questions. Truth be told, I did not expect to be asked them for another few years at least, but perhaps I should have, with how interested you are in these matters. You are almost thirteen now, after all, you can handle the truth. To be completely honest, what happened during the Games to those children never even crossed my mind. Having been raised to consider that normal, I never questioned the status quo, and found it easier to not think about what happened in the Arenas I built, even as I watched the Games myself and watched the children die. I do not say that to excuse myself. Many from the same background as me chose a different path; perhaps you’ve read the testimony they gave as witnesses or the statements they gave as prosecutors._

_I assure you, of the dreadful things in the Districts, I knew nothing. Of course, it would have been the easiest thing in the world for me to find out, but I chose not to. I could plead ignorance, but the fact remains that I was the master builder of the Arenas for several years. Any justification would be an attempt to give an excuse for my actions and inactions. For the Arenas I built and for what happened in them, no apologies are possible._

_If you do not understand what I mean, don’t worry. I myself still struggle to understand it, even with the help of the psychologist. If you haven’t yet read Aurelius and Mallow’s book on the trial, I would recommend doing so. It will give you a better understanding of the world I lived in._

She reread the letter, wondering if it would make sense. There was so much more she needed to include, but how? The letter was already barely coherent. Donna wanted to provide more background, but would it seem like she was trying to excuse herself? She wanted to add clarification, but she could see that doing so would take away from the crux of the argument.

_No apologies are possible._

How had she even ended up in this situation? 

Hearing bootsteps in the corridor, Donna switched her attention to the sudoku. The steps became louder and louder until she saw a warden glance into the cell. Donna didn’t look up as she observed her for a few seconds and walked away. As the footsteps grew quieter, Donna reread the letter again. What would Lars think of it? Hopefully, he’d be able to understand. Donna folded up the letter and placed it in her sock. A sympathetic guard would be coming around soon.

* * *

“How are you today?” Dr Chu asked.

Squeezing the red ball and not looking the psychologist in the eye, Donna explained what was on her mind. “I’ve been thinking recently,” she said. Her heart was beating rapidly in anticipation. “My children are old enough to start asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Donna should have expected that.

“About the past,” she elaborated. “I know I won’t be able to tell them anything now, but it’s still stuck in my mind, so I’ve been thinking.” Dr. Chu said nothing. “I realized,” Donna continued, “that for what I did, no apologies are possible.”

Dr. Chu seemed to relax slightly. “So what will you do instead?” she asked, jotting down notes.

The psychologist was always a step ahead of Donna, not letting her get complacent or rest. “I haven’t decided that yet,” she said. “I’ve got plenty of time to decide, after all.”

“We’ll work on that,” Dr. Chu said gently. “Right now, though, I would like you to walk me through the process of coming to that realization.”

Donna kneaded the ball, listening to the quiet squelching. “I was talking to Theodosius, and we agreed that it would be best to tell the truth, even if it means our children will end up hating us. And since they were very small in 75, I was wondering how much context I need to provide them, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like providing context would be like providing an excuse.” She rolled the ball between her palms, flattening it. “They remember how much I loved my job. I can’t just say I regret it. Words are easy. Anyone can say anything. And in any case, I can’t exactly apologize to the victims, can I?” She laughed humourlessly. 

“And what about the survivors? Would you consider apologizing to them?”

Donna almost fell off her cot. “What? No! The last thing they need is me. They’d probably think I was lying, anyway.”

“Would you want to, though?” Dr. Chu was insistent.

“What survivors?” Donna asked. “The survivors of the Games? I had nothing to do with the vast majority of them. I’m not Theodosius, I don’t feel responsible for things I wasn’t directly responsible for.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “Let’s say that Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, or Josh Dirik show a desire to have someone heavily involved in the Games take responsibility for their actions and apologize. Would you do it?”

Given that Dirik, the survivor of the seventy-second Hunger Games, was currently playing minor league baseball in Japan, the likelihood of him wanting to have anything to do with the recent past was probably nil. Donna didn’t say that, though. Dr. Chu would just call her out for going on tangents. “I guess,” she said, “but that still leaves out everyone who isn’t around to hear an apology. That’s what I meant by my words.” Donna stared at her hands. 

“What about the other survivors?” Dr. Chu asked. “The forced workers from the Districts, for instance.”

“But I had nothing to do with them!” Donna exclaimed. “Yes, I chose to believe the rosy picture that was drawn for me, but I was not responsible for their treatment.” 

“Some would find that hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” Donna snapped. “As if any of this doesn’t stretch credibility.”

Dr. Chu looked slightly disappointed. “The witnesses-”

“I repeat for the billionth time, the witnesses must have been mistaken. How many people claimed to have seen Krechet somewhere when in reality he was in another District at the time?” Dr. Chu just wasn’t giving up on that line of questioning. 

“Would you like to talk about something else, then?” she asked.

Donna nodded gratefully. “Yes.”

“What do you think about the situation with Honoria Yark?”

She should have expected that. “I think she’s faking. It probably never entered anyone else’s mind that they could do such a thing, but I guess she thought it was worth a shot.”

Dr. Chu adjusted her kerchief. “I know there’s a betting pool going around here.” Her voice was calm, but Donna could detect something accusing in her words.

Donna stretched the ball in her hands. “It’s obvious they’ll hang her eventually,” she said with a shrug. “Everyone thinks that, except Li.”

“Why?”

“Because Li read too many books about political science and now considers himself to be an expert, that’s why. He had this super-complicated theory about how her case will be reviewed when sentences are being reduced. I’m not even convinced there will be any sentence reductions going on at all!”

“Are you upset by the mention of reduced sentences?”

Donna sat back against the wall. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I know full well I won’t be on the list if that ever happens. None of us will be released even a year early for good behaviour.”

“And yet, many of your fellow inmates are certain that they won’t be here in a few years.”

“That’s different,” Donna pointed out. “Imagine the fuss that will be kicked up if Rodriguez dies in here. Once is happenstance but twice is coincidence, and many do not believe in coincidence.”

Dr. Chu smiled. “So you’re saying that the way out of here is to take a page out of Yark’s book and go catatonic?”

While it did feel sometimes to Donna like she was on the verge of going insane from boredom, it was still infinitely better than the trial. “Sounds like a plan,” Donna said, smiling back. “We’ll have to see what happens to her first, though.”

“Just out of curiosity, what did you bet?”

“Soap. If I lose, I’ll ask Dem to send in those tiny bars of soap they have at hotels.”

* * *

Two weeks later, the sentences of the final IDC trial were carried out, but Yark remained in hospital. Donna had a suspicion that whatever happened next, it would be fodder for the tabloids. Theodosius was too busy being sad at the losing the bet to care.


	35. No Hope

The weather was amazing, sunny and warm. It was with reluctance that Donna got up from the potato patch and headed inside the prison, flanked by a warden. Theodosius waved slightly as he listened to Drape brag about her children’s accomplishments with half an ear. Donna had a visit to prepare for. 

“How old is your daughter?” the warden asked.

“She turns sixteen soon.” 

“That’s nice. Mine’s ten.” Donna was temporarily saved from having to continue the conversation by the door slamming behind her. She put on clean clothes and washed her face and hands. The dirty clothes, she left on the cot. She’d put them on again after the visit was over. Looking down at herself, Donna realized that her shirt was fraying at the seams, especially under the arms. To cover up the shabbiness, she put on her sweater.

Donna combed her hair, though it was so short at the moment, it hardly needed to be combed. When the warden opened the door, she was checking her shoes for dirt. “Let’s go, Female Nine.”

Donna obeyed, stepping out of the cell. She wondered if she should ask for a new shirt now, or wait until after the visit. As they walked down the corridor and through the cell block gate, Donna decided to hold off for now. With every step, she felt more and more anxious, until she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she’d throw up. The door loomed ahead. The warden walked in with her and took a seat against the wall, together with another wardenand the director from Three. Donna sat down and waved slightly at her daughter. “Hello.”

“Hi,” her daughter said hesitantly. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Donna replied. “You?”

Donna shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I met up with some friends a few days ago. That was fun.” Looking at her, it was hard to believe that her daughter was already nearly sixteen, but it was so. And she did look like Donna herself up close. She had wavy hair and darker skin, but looking at her daughter still made Donna feel as if she was looking into a mirror to the past. Though her hair was slightly longer, it didn’t conceal the fact that they had very similar faces. 

“That’s nice,” Donna said, trying to shrug off her gloom. “What did you do?” Her daughter launched into a brief description of how they had met up in a park and then gone to a friend’s house to watch movies until the morning. 

“So, yeah,” she finished uncertainly. “Dad kept on texting me until three in the morning. Would have been easier for him to just go sleep.”

“Well, that sounds like him. And how is school?”

Oddly enough, her daughter relaxed at hearing that question. “I think I’ll get my diploma and then go to trade school.”

At least she wasn’t planning on dropping out, though Donna doubted her transcript would be anything to be proud of. “And what do you want to study?”

“I want to become a carpenter.”

Donna racked her mind for anything to do with the topic. “I think a few of the guardshere used to be carpenters,” she said. “What made you decide on that?” She would have been more upset if not for Dr. Chu’s warning. Her daughter was doing this on purpose to distance herself from her. And after all, people in the skilled trades did earn decent money, even if it didn’t come close to what Donna could have earned had she decided to become an engineer instead.

“It just seemed like something I’d be interested in.” Had the fact that carpentry was heavily associated with a District influenced her?

“And what does your dad say?”

Donna shrugged. “He doesn’t care, as long as I’m doing something productive. Uncle Alex borrowed money from him again, by the way.”

“What? How much?” Did Dem even _have_ money to throw away on Alex and whatever it was he spent it on?

“Not much,” her daughter rushed to assuage her, “but he’s too busy being annoyed by that to care about me.” That didn’t make her feel any better.

Donna was at a loss for words. “I’m seriously missing out,” she tried to joke. “Sounds like you’ve got a whole drama going on in there.” Her daughter giggled. “You didn’t answer my question, though. How is school?”

“I’m passing everything.” Donna should have expected that.

“How is math?” she asked, pressing for details.

“I’m passing it.” Her daughter was slightly hunched over, as if she was trying to hide into herself, and Donna was reminded of how anxious she had been at that age when the report cards arrived.

“But what are you studying?”

“Equations.”

This was completely pointless. “What sort of courses are you taking next year?”

Her daughter shrugged, even though Donna knew full well that courses for the next year were picked around February. She decided to give it up as a loss. “And how are your siblings?” she asked.

“Doing well in school. Lars got eighty-nine percent on his science test and moped for days.” Donna winced in sympathy, though her daughter rolled her eyes slightly, like any other underachiever confronted with someone complaining about a grade of eighty-nine. It was a shame that even in the little things, they were so far apart.

“How did your grandma and grandpa react?” Donna asked. Hopefully, her parents had mellowed since her own middle-school days.

“What, you think they’re going to be upset about eighty-nine when they’ve got me?” her daugher replied with a tinge of pride. 

Donna raised her eyebrows. “Nothing I ever did could save your uncle Alex from parental wrath.” Her daughter shrugged. “How is everyone else?”

“Aulus and Laelia are doing alright, I guess.” Since they were only in grades four and two respectively, Donna wasn’t too worried about them.

“That’s nice,” Donna said. “Good luck on your exams.”

Her daughter snorted. “I’ll need a lot of it to pass.”

“Don’t say that,” Donna chided her daughter gently, raising her hand to touch the barrier. “Even a little bit of studying should help you immensely. It’s only grade ten, after all.”

“Whatever. I know I’m no good at any of that.”

Donna sighed. “Why, though? I remember it took me almost no effort to do well in highschool up until grade twelve. I’m sure you’re not nearly as incompetent as you think. Maybe if you just talked to someone-”

“I already did!” She stared at the floor. “That’s not the problem. I’m just bad at this.”

“Come on, Donna, I know you’re not naturally bad at school-”

“Whatever. Maybe I’ll move to an outer District. Nobody has highschool diplomas there.”

Donna had absolutely no idea how to react to that. She glanced at the wardens and the director, who all looked away. One of the wardens was either engrossed in a book, or pretending to be doing so.

“Do you have any plans for the summer?” she asked, changing the topic.

Seizing the opportunity, her daughter started talking about Cynthia’s cottage and the current plans for it. “Grandma and Grandpa are going there every weekend to plant and weed and whatever. There’s even a little meadow, just like yours but smaller. What is yours made of?”

Donna glanced at the wardens and director. They did not respond. So garden contents weren’t a state secret anymore, then. “Local herbs and grasses, mostly,” she said. “One of the guards said it was good for the bees, so that’s what we did. We’ve stopped cutting it, and it’s very nice to lie on. Lots of effort goes into watering it, though.”

“I can imagine. Grandpa said our cucumbers are self-pollinating, so we can grow them in a greenhouse and not worry about bees not being able to get in.”

“Are you growing the same stuff as last year?” Donna asked.

“No,” said her daughter. “Grandpa’s planting a bunch of flowers because Charlotte begged him to.” Theodosius’ youngest daughter was eight.

Flowers sounded nice. “You’ll have to send me a photo of you holding the flowers, then,” Donna said. “And tell Cynthia to send a photo of Charlotte to, uh, Coll.” She still had no idea how to refer to Theodosius to others.

“Of course.” 

Now that was a thought. Would the administration let them plant flowers? “And are you planning to do anything during the summer?” Donna asked.

“Not really. Grandma and Grandpa are threatening to send me to summer school, but Dad won’t let them. At least I hope so.” Donna shrugged. “They’re more upset by the fact that I’m not going to go to uni than I am. Why can’t they just accept it and stop stressing themselves out?”

“You know, your uncle still says the same thing.” While Alex was securely hidden in Twelve now, Donna was fairly sure that even his absence couldn’t stop their parents from complaining about him.

Her daughter rolled her eyes. “Yes, but that’s Uncle Alex. He always manages to spend just a little bit more than he earns. How did you refrain from punching him before?” she asked. “Now that I think about it, I can’t believe he mooched off you for so long.”

“We were just used to it,” Donna said with a shrug. “When we were teenagers, our parents were mostly focused on me because they knew I was the only one who could live up to their expectations. They didn’t particularly care about Alex. They thought that he’d learn a trade or something, or at least get a permanent though unskilled job. He did get graduate highschool and get a job as a cashier, so there was that. But then he lost his job, and got a new one. Eventually, the gaps between employment became longer and longer. Did I ever tell you that one of the reasons I moved in with your dad was to get away from Alex and our parents shouting at each other?”

“No, I thought it was because Dad needed to get away from his family.”

“There was that, too, but if not for the shouting, I would have offered to have him live in our house. Cheaper that way.” It would have been infinitely preferable to stay at home and chip in for the utility bills and mortgage than pay most of what she had earned back then for that abomination of an apartment. “In any case, he also moved out eventually, but since he couldn’t hold down a job for any reasonable length of time, I had to pay his rent half the time. He did pay me back occasionally, but by the time Lars was born, your dad and I knew full well that spending money on Alex was like setting it on fire.” 

“Huh,” her daughter said. “He didn’t tell me that. He just complains about how you weren’t there to help take care of Grandpa when he got sick.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Donna said irritably, “and if he thinks he can be a good boy for half a year and then go back to borrowing thousands of dollars from your Dad with no consequences, he is very mistaken. Is he even still employed?”

“He’s still working in that medicine plant, as far as I know.” How did Mom and Dad even justify leaving everything to him in their will? “He got a promotion a while back.”

“At least there’s that,” Donna conceded with a sigh. “I suppose he has really changed, if he’s getting promoted.”

“I get that. Things have been topsy-turvy recently.”

Donna laughed humourlessly, feeling at the paint on her knee. “I noticed.”

* * *

“Everything’s just as bad as before,” Donna complained to Theodosius as soon as she got back to the yard. “She told me point-blank that she isn’t interested in further education. At least she’s willing to get a highschool diploma.”

Theodosius pulled out a weed and tossed it into a bucket. “Not very aptly named, then, is she?” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Actually,” Donna said, “I was struck by how much she looks like me. She wears her hair slightly longer, but otherwise, her face is just like mine.” She crouched down next to him and began to weed. It was by now rather warm, and Donna rolled up her sleeves and trouser legs. Theodosius took off his cap and used it to fan himself. Without it, he looked his age, and when he put it back on, he was back to looking slightly adolescent. “You should take off your cap less,” she joked. “It makes you look two decades older.”

“You’re the other way around,” Theodosius said lightly. “In that cap, it looks like your hair is fully white.” Donna reached up to touch her temples, which were indeed fully white. She had last looked in the mirror the previous week, and had been shocked to see that. “She didn’t mention your hair, surely.”

“No, she didn’t, but I guess seeing her just made me think about how time is passing.” Donna sat down in the small ditch between the vegetable beds, stretching out her legs. “In just a few years, she’ll be an adult. It’s hard to believe.”

Theodosius fiddled with a thin plant. “I’ve had this thought recently,” he said gloomily. “Our children are growing away from us. At this rate, if we aren’t released early, we might as well never come home. What are they going to do with sixty-year-old strangers?”

“Ask Dr. Chu,” Donna said with a blend of sarcasm and sincerity. “I’m sure she’ll think of something.” Theodosius sighed. “Do you want to hear about the rest of the visit?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, snapping to alertness. “Alright, so she wants to finish highschool, and then what?”

Donna moved one of the buckets closer to her. “Says she wants to become a carpenter. Joked about moving to an outer District. I told her about my brother, but I don’t think she got the hint.” She tore out a small weed and tossed it into the half-full bucket.

“You still think she should go to university?” Theodosius moved handfuls of dirt to make the mound around one of the plants taller. 

“University, college, I really don’t care. I’m worried she’s locking herself into a path too early.”

Shaking off his hands, Theodosius nodded contemplatively. “That makes sense. Do you think there’s still a chance?”

Donna dug her fingers into the ground to dig out a stinging nettle. “Of course there is. All she needs to do is put in a little bit of effort.” The problem was that she wasn’t willing to. The psychologist’s words echoed around her brain. There was nothing wrong with her daughter, she wasn’t lazy or suffering from a disorder. She attended class, occasionally did her homework, never studied, and put zero effort into assignments, usually not doing them at all. This was a deliberate attempt to have as little in common as possible with Donna herself while avoiding driving the family completely into a white-hot rage. Trying to chase away that tearing, crushing feeling within her chest, Donna continued speaking. “After all, if she’s doing her homework from time to time, why not at least _do_ the assignments? It’s so arbitrary. And how can you fail a test if you showed up to every class? I can’t imagine her just staring out the window the entire time.”

“Donna is in a class of her own,” Theodosius said, shaking his head.

“I think that’s precisely the point. The more she plays up certain aspects of herself, the more she draws attention to things that are specifically _her_ , the more she feels like she’s more than just Donna Blues 2.0.” Donna tore out a clump of small plants and shook the dirt from their roots before tossing them into the bucket. “Dr. Chu told me that.”

Theodosius looked like he had just been hit over the head. “I thought you told me nobody bothers her about you.”

“That’s what I thought too, but according to Dr. Chu, she still struggles with those feelings. It’s purely internal.”

“Huh.” Theodosius stopped weeding, wrapping his knees with his arms. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t name my eldest son after myself.” He cracked a weak smile, which Donna returned.

“If it was really bad, she’d have changed her name by now, so at least there’s that.” Not much of a comfort, but at least there was that. “Everyone else is doing fine, though. Lars got eighty-nine percent on a test and was very upset about it.”

“Now that sounds more like you!”

Reaching over to pull out a weed, Donna smiled slightly. “Ah, but you forget that my parents would have died of horror if I had failed to get ninety. I’m beginning to think that the real reason Alex moved to Twelve is because if he had stayed, my parents would have spent every other evening accusing him of corrupting Donna with his malignant influence.”

“And how is your brother?” Theodosius moved over slightly to reach a small clump of weeds better.

“Got a promotion recently.”

Theodosius ran his hands through his hair. “You know, I don’t understand him at all. On one hand, he’s a lazy moocher, but on the other hand, he gets a promotion and everything in the will.”

Donna shrugged. “He’s both. It’s complicated.” 

A small breeze blew, and Donna held up her face to feel it. Theodosius rolled up his sleeves, took out his sunscreen, and began to cover his arms with it. “Isn’t it always. How are your parents?”

“At the cottage. They’re planting flowers, at Charlotte’s insistence. I asked Donna to ask Cynthia to send you a photo.”

“Thanks,” Theodosius said with a soft smile. “I need to update my photos more regularly. I barely recognize the little ones when the newest photo arrives. But they’re not so little anymore, are they?” His youngest was four, soon to be five. “Wait, the wardens didn’t flip out when you said that?” he suddenly asked, hand frozen halfway to a weed.

“Progress,” Donna said with a shrug. “After all, there are no state secrets in a flower bed. Unless it was in here, of course.”

“Some flowers would be lovely,” Theodosius said. “I just need something nice-looking in my life.”

“What about the potatoes?” Donna asked, gesturing to the plants that were currently flowering. The blooms were very small, and had a nice light-purple colour. 

Theodosius reached out to touch a little flower. “You know what I mean,” he said. “We only grow edible plants here. It would be nice to have some variety.”

“I agree,” Grass said from several metres away. “They can’t just tell us what to grow and not grow. There’s no famine in the country, after all, it’s absurd that they can prohibit _flowers_.” Donna and Theodosius nodded.

When Grass explain that reasoning to a guard, though, he was not as impressed with the reasoning. “Plants that are grown solely for their flowers are not allowed,” the man from Eight explained. “I’ll take your request to the directors, but I doubt they’ll be willing to change the rules. Oh, and Male Fifteen, the request is approved. After dinner, you can go sit with Male Twenty-four.” Rodriguez had just been transferred to the infirmary, and a few of the inmates hat gotten together to request permission to provide him company. 

The guard left, and Theodosius turned to Donna and Grass. “Well, that’s good,” he said. “At least Rodriguez won’t be lonely.”

“They’re getting softer,” Grass said, tapping her chin with a finger. “They didn’t let anyone sit with Townsend.”

“Not so soft, though, if they won’t even allow flowers,“ Donna pointed out. Grass shook her head.

“They’re willing to soften up on major though insignificant matters, but not on minor ones,” she explained. “In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter if Rodriguez gets to spend time with us or not, but it looks like a great, humane gesture. If it got out that the administration didn’t allow it, that could potentially cause complaints in the population.” Donna doubted the population actually cared enough to complain. “When it comes to little things, though, nobody’s going to kick up a fuss unless it’s spun right, and since we can’t communicate properly, that’s not going to happen. It’s completely absurd, but that’s how it is.”

Donna crouched back down and resumed weeding, stretching out to reach the plants farther away from her. “You think the average person cares about us?” she asked.

Sitting down next to her, Grass picked up a clump of dirt and crumbled it between her fingers. “I am certain that there is a certain degree of awareness, and if there is awareness, the media can harness it. At the very least, the municipal government will not stand for continuing to pay for all of this. If this is a national endeavour, shouldn’t the country pay for it, or at least the Capitol due to its position of leadership, not the _municipality_?”

While Grass was right, Donna was certain that the administration saw it differently. Theodosius echoed her thoughts, saying, “I don’t think they’re willing to be logical about it. If they had been, the sixty-three of us wouldn’t be held in a prison that had once held nearly a thousand.”

“And remember,” Donna continued, “people have short memories. My younger children’s classmates have no idea who I am.”

“That’s because they’re so young, though,” Grass pointed out. “They’ll learn when they become a little bit older.”

Theodosius looked sceptical. “From what the guards say, the country is trying very hard to forget us. Even if the federal government continues to argue about the Supermax, even if the depuration processes continue for another four decades, the average person won’t know more about us than the fact that we exist.”

“Personally, I’m worried they might be telling us inaccurate information.”

There it was again. Even if they weren’t lying on purpose, they would still be biased. What did Donna actually know about what was going on outside? She wished they had access to newspapers. 

“What motivation would they have for deliberately misleading us?” Theodosius asked. “They’re not sadistic, after all. And even if they are biased, the facts they tell us will be correct, even if the way they phrase things will lead us to interpret them incorrectly.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Grass pointed out. “If we have access to only one viewpoint, how are we supposed to tell it’s not true?”

Donna shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you are not exactly an expert in critical thinking either.”

Donna shrugged again. The conversation had drifted off somewhere she didn’t want, so she said, “In any case, do you think they’ll allow flowers?”

“I doubt it,” Grass said. “They’ll spin it as being unnecessary. Why this entire garden is considered necessary, I do not know. Nobody’s living off it. If it’s just to give us something to do, why not allow flowers? Flowers are productive, after all, they can be sold.” Donna imagined one of the guards, dressed in civilian clothes, squatting in a subway entrance and selling flowers. She laughed.

“What are you laughing about?” Theodosius asked.

“Who’d sell the flowers, then, the guards?” she explained. “Can you imagine them squatting in the subway and peddling bouquets?” Theodosius and Grass chuckled. “That would be one argument in favour of closing the prison out of practical considerations, if the guards needed to sell flowers to pay for the electricity.”

“I still think they might be able to spin the flowers as unproductive,” Grass said. “They’ve got a very twisted logic to all of this. By all rights, we should be able to grow what we want! They’ll claim, though, that flowers are not directly useful.” She paused for a second, tapping her finger on her chin. “We should ask for sunflowers,” she suddenly said. “It’s a flower, and it’s productive.”

Donna now had a mental image of the guards walking around eating sunflower seeds and throwing the shells everywhere, like the idle youths who hung out on porches and playgrounds. “That could work, but it all depends on how Thirteen views it. What sort of nutrients do sunflower seeds even have?” she asked. The three of them tried to remember back to first-year gen-ed courses.

“Uh, fats, mostly?” Theodosius said hesitantly. “After all, they’re used for oil.” Donna mentally kicked herself for not realizing that.

“That probably won’t work, then,” Grass said sadly. “They’re not going to give us something that’s calorie-dense but doesn’t have much in the way of nutrients.”

At that moment, Oldsmith chose to join the conversation. He had been working alone a few metres to them and following the conversation. “Flowers would be lovely,” he said. “I used to grow flowers in my backyard. Snow once gifted me some of his special roses, they had the most beautiful colours.”

“I never knew that,” Grass said. 

“It never came up.” Oldsmith tended to stay quiet when crocheting, unlike the majority of them, who had already gone over every conceivable topic twice and were now in the process of doing so for a third time. During the trial he had been one of the biggest firebrands, but now he seldom spoke.

Eager to listen to something new, Donna asked him about the flowers. 

“It’s just something I picked up when I became the President’s secretary. His greenhouses were truly something. When we walked through them, I would stare and stare at all the colours. You know, that’s something Cotillion did right. Some of them were obviously genetically modified, but it didn’t stop them from being beautiful.” Donna remembered how Dancer had told her a rumour of how Cotillion had allegedly once created a rose for Snow that you only had to smell once to die of natural causes the next week. While the veracity of the rumour was doubtful, the sentiment expressed was not. “I picked it up around then, though I grew different flowers, not just roses. My sibling teased me mercilessly for that, joked that I was becoming more and more like Snow every day.” He smiled slightly. “They were right, in a way, but do we not all become more like the people we spend so much time with?”

“I had walked with Snow in his gardens and greenhouses a few times,” Donna said. Every time, she had walked away unsure if he had threatened or reassured her. “I remember how one of the times, I was pregnant and the smell nearly made me throw up, but I forced myself to keep on going because I needed his support in an argument I was having with the Head Gamemaker. By the end, I was so tense, I was afraid to even open my mouth.”

Grass winced. “I’m glad my wife and I decided to adopt.” The two men cracked slight grins.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Donna said with a shrug. “I was responsible for the children for only nine months, after all, and only one at a time. My husband’s stuck with all five of them right now.” After all, the process had been long and unpleasant, but that was the worst that could be said for it. Donna had been horrified to find out that in the Districts, even the inner ones, pregnancy and childbirth had often been life-threatening. 

Theodosius looked sceptical at her words. “Out of everyone I’ve ever worked with, few of the women admitted that having children was an ordeal, and when they complained about something, they underplayed their issues. My wife, however, was open about all of the difficulties, and when I was at gatherings where spouses were invited, so were the wives. Does having a spouse to offload the kids on to somehow make women minimize their own experiences?” 

Donna had never thought about that. Judging by their facial expressions, neither had Grass or Oldsmith. “That sounds like something that would be interesting to read about,” Oldsmith said. “The experiences of working women with stay-at-home spouses as opposed to households where both spouses work. Maybe I’ll ask for a book from HQ this week.” That was the section on family and marriage. Donna wondered what the censor would think of the sudden interest in a completely unrelated topic. Oldsmith tended to read biographies of modern-day individuals and books about how different governments across the globe functioned. “In any case, have either of you ever been invited to Snow’s greenhouses?”

Theodosius and Grass both nodded. “That’s how I was persuaded to accept my promotion,” Theodosius said. “I was worried that this was all a set-up, but Snow convinced me that as long as I did my job properly, I had nothing to fear. He was right, in the end. When a rival tried to attack me, I went to Snow, and he dealt with it. The flowers, though, were terrible. The smell was cloying and overpowering.”

“Really?” Oldsmith asked. “I liked it.” Grass agreed. 

“Except for that one time, it was overpowering in the end, but I got used to it,” Donna said. 

“You were stronger than me, then,” Theodosius said. “If we are allowed to plant flowers, I will personally throttle anyone who tries to plant roses. I swear I can still smell the stench sometimes.”

* * *

The debate over flowers was solved in an unexpected way. Several days later, a warden from One handed Oldsmith a tray of fern seedlings, or whatever the equivalent was for a plant that did not grow from seeds.

“I don’t understand the problem,” she told the director from Thirteen, who was very unimpressed. “Ferns don’t even flower!”

As Donna and Theodosius watched from their potato patch, the director from One was called in. “The decision was that plants cultivated only for their flowers will not be allowed,” he said, leaning against a tree. “Ferns do not flower. Seems clear enough to me.”

“Are you seriously quibbling over the letter of the law?” the director from Thirteen exclaimed. “It’s obvious that the wording referred to plants that do not produce edible, uh, anything.”

“The statement clearly referred to flowers. Where do you see flowers here?” The director from One pointed at the ferns.

Leaning towards Theodosius, Donna whispered, “I can’t believe Thirteen is trying to ignore the letter of the rules.”

“This independent-mindedness will be discussed at our next meeting!” The director from Thirteen remained unimpressed. “Was I supposed to have read an encyclopedia on non-flowering plants before assuming my post?” he added in an irritated tone.

This was getting nasty. The director from Thirteen had never worked on one of their farms, and as far as Donna knew, his formal education had been military in nature. Not like the director from One, who had worked in a greenhouse cultivating rare flowers.

“No,” parried the director from One, “but it would be reasonable to expect that rules are followed.”

The director from Thirteen went incandescent. “I never expected such a situation and neither could I have been expected to do so,” he said with icy calmness. “Now that I am aware of a gap in the rules, I say that we need to get together and close it.”

“Fine,” snapped the director from One. “Let the inmates plant the ferns, though. If we decide otherwise, they can always dig them up.” 

The director from Thirteen calmly agreed to that proposition, but Donna could tell that he had lost. So could Theodosius. “If we plant them, then they’ll all be in favour of maintaining the status quo.” he pointed out. “Looks like we’ve gotten our ferns, then.”

Oldsmith was already on his knees, planting the ferns.


	36. Unaware

Very confused, Donna reread the paragraph over and over.

_I am sure you will be delighted to hear that Donna’s marks seem to be drastically improving. While it’s still very early in the year, I’ve noticed that she does all of her homework now, and stays behind for extra help every day. She had had a few quizzes already, and they’re utterly stratospheric when compared to just last year. I have no idea what can be thanked for this change, and Donna herself just shrugs her shoulders and says she wants to be an engineer. She even switched into university prep classes, after that huge fight she went though to be allowed to not take them! Hopefully by the time I see you next, I will have an actual explanation of what is going on._

While Donna was delighted that her daughter had finally dealt with whatever had been troubling her (and just in the nick of time, too), she was also very, very confused. While it did make perfect sense that a few weeks of hard work would result in drastic improvement at that level, that still left the question of why she would want to improve in the first place. Leaving that aside, what had convinced her to want to become an engineer when she had just spent years being so diametrically opposed to it? Dr. Chu would have a field day analyzing her daughter’s behaviour.

Something must have happened during the summer to make her reconsider. Donna wondered if her daughter had spent a long time thinking about it, or if it had been a snap decision in some moment of extreme emotion. Had someone said something? Or maybe perhaps one of her friends had managed to change her mind? Donna wished she knew more about her daughter’s friends other than the fact that they existed at all.

* * *

“Seriously, how am I supposed to interpret any of this?” Donna asked as the walnuts fell down around her. They were shaking the tree to make the nuts fall down.

Picking up a nut and tearing off the outer skin to reveal the tough shell, Theodosius crouched down and leaned his back against the tree. “No idea,” he said. He smashed two nuts together and picked out chunks of the edible part, breaking the shell with his fingers. “You want some?”

“Thanks.” Donna took the nut fragment and ate it. It tasted oily and slightly bitter but was still tasty. She gave the tree a few more shakes. A handful of nuts fell down, one of them hitting Theodosius on the head. She laughed, and so did he. “I think that’s it for now,” she said, crouching down next to Theodosius. “If it’s not falling down, it’s probably not ripe yet.”

Trying to find the nuts in the tall grass was next to impossible, though. The outer covering was green, blending in with the grass very well. Every time she shifted she stepped on a nut, but when she actually tried to find it with her hands, it was gone.

“Look!” Theodosius hissed. “Two directors!” Donna looked up and saw the directors from Twelve and Two walking down the path and talking. Seized with a sudden idea, she took off her cap and began to fill it with nuts. Noticing what she was doing, Theodosius did likewise. When the directors approached them, Donna and Theodosius stood up and offered the nuts to them with a friendly smile.

The director from Twelve awkwardly said “Thank you” and stuffed the nuts into his pockets. The director from Two had an odd expression on her face, pity and revulsion and confusion all mixed together, but she still took the nuts from Theodosius. They walked on, and Donna and Theodosius went back to their nuts.

“Why was the director from Two looking so strangely at us?” Donna wondered out loud.

“No idea,” Theodosius said, tossing a nut into the bucket. He ran his hands through the grass. “Maybe we should have mowed under the tree.”

“Next year, we will.” Donna tossed two nuts into the half-full bucket. The little tree had been completely covered. “I just realized, you did manage to scare the tree into productivity. Remember how you threatened to cut it down?”

“Wait, really?” Theodosius asked, looking up from the ground. “Sorry, tree,” he said, patting the trunk with an outstretched hand. “I wouldn’t have done it, you know. I promise. Next year, if you don’t want, you don’t have to bear this much fruit. I promise I’ll be okay with it. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being threatened into doing something.” He ran his hand over the bark a final time and went back to tossing nuts into the bucket. 

Running her hands over the ground, Donna prompted Theodosius again. “What do you think is up with Donna?” she asked.

“Tell me your ideas so far, and I’ll try to comment on them,” Theodosius said, breaking open two more walnuts. “Want one?” he said, tossing one to Donna. She switched to a sitting position, picking out the nut fragments from the shell.

“That’s the problem, I don’t have the faintest idea. I get that she would feel uncomfortable admitting that the reason was something as prosaic as wanting to please the family, but if Dem has no idea at all, then it’s all just pure speculation.” Donna stuffed several pieces of walnut into her mouth. “Maybe she just grew up. After all, I haven’t seen her in months, who knows what could have happened to her then.”

“Maybe.” Theodosius was more interested in the nuts than the conversation, not that she could blame him. Donna picked out and ate another fragment of the walnut she was holding. “Tell her I’m happy for her, by the way.”

“I will.”

“Maybe you should ask Dr. Chu.”

“I will.” Donna ate another piece of walnut.

* * *

“So, I hear congratulations are in order?” Donna asked. Her daughter stared back blankly and shrugged. For a second it looked like she had been about to smile, but then it disappeared, and she looked more gloomy than anything.

“Congratulations for what? I haven’t done anything.” Strangely enough, she looked sadder now than when she had been doing poorly. 

“How did you do on that Physics test you wrote me about?”

“Alright,” she replied evasively. 

“What mark did you get?” Donna insisted.

Looking down, her daughter mumbled “Ninety-two” in a barely audible voice.

“But that’s amazing!” Donna exclaimed. “You should be proud of yourself!” Her daughter shook her head, saying nothing. Was Donna becoming a perfectionist like Lars? Now that would be an ironic twist. The others would probably laugh.”What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She scratched the back of her neck. Her hair was noticeably shorter than last time. “I’m just worried about my boyfriend.”

What? Since when did her daughter have a boyfriend? “What happened?” Donna asked.

“He has some problems with his family,” she replied evasively. The two Donnas looked each other in the eye. “I’m worried about him.”

Donna had about a hundred questions. She decided to start at the beginning. “So, how long have you been together for?” she asked. She was missing out on so much!

“Well, we’ve been friends since the beginning of the school year, but we only started dating a few weeks ago. He helps me study, and I bake him cookies.” She smiled slightly. “He motivates me.”

Glancing to the side, Donna saw that the wardens were carefully pretending to not be paying attention. “You know, your dad always baked for me when we were at uni,” she said wistfully.

“I know. Um, this might be an awkward question-”

“If you’re alright with our companions hearing, go right ahead,” Donna said, gesturing at the wardens and the director from Eight.

Her daughter tapped the table with her fingers. “Did you date anyone before Dad?” she asked.

“No, we were each other’s first. If you want to know about relationships at your age, ask Cynthia,” Donna said. “Or your grandparents.” It was a bit surreal to realize that her daughter was now old enough to date. 

“Um, thanks. I’ll do that.”

“So, what’s he like?” Donna asked, curious to know more.

Her daughter smiled. “His name is Mike, we have a few classes together. He used to go to a different school, but he moved to our neighbourhood during the summer.”

“Is he also good at school?” Donna asked.

“No, not really.”

Donna blinked, taken aback. “Then how does he help you study?”

“Well, he quizzes me and whatnot, and he’s super-motivating. And he always tells me that my cookies are delicious.” She blushed slightly.

“You know,” Donna said, “swap the recipient and giver of the cookies, and that’s your dad and I during our first few years together in a nutshell.” In a slightly sarcastic tone she added, “I’m sure your grandparents are thrilled.”

Her daughter laughed. “They don’t dare complain, not when my marks went up once I started dating him.”

Was that perhaps the reason for the sudden high marks? A desire to avoid grandparental disapproval? An absurd reason, really, but Theodosius had apparently done stranger things in highschool, so who knew. “Well, as long as your marks are good and you’re happy, that’s good,” Donna said. “Could you tell me some more about Mike? What’s his family like?”

“He doesn’t really talk about his family. He lives with his aunt. He doesn’t get along with his dad, and doesn’t talk about his mom.” Donna wanted to press more, but remembered how her own parents had endlessly pressed her for details about Dem that she could not give.

Instead, she decided to do a gentle prompt. “That’s all he’s said about his family?”

“Maybe once he feels more comfortable with me,” her daughter said, staring at the ground. “He’s really open with me otherwise, just not in this,” she said in a slightly desperate tone.

Donna rushed to assuage her daughter. “Don’t worry if he never does,” she said soothingly. “You know how your dad never talks about his family? Maybe he just prefers not to talk about it.”

“I guess so.” Donna had a feeling her daughter wasn’t being a hundred percent truthful, but then again, it was probably very awkward for her to say even this much in front of five strangers. “I’m actually going to visit him after this.”

“That’s nice. Tell me more in your next letter, alright?” she asked. “I know it must be uncomfortable to talk about something personal in front of strangers.”

“Sorry,” said a warden, a young man from Nine.

“It’s no problem,” her daughter said to the warden. “You’re just doing your job.”

Donna cringed at the phrasing, but not as much as the director, who looked to be wondering if the rules permitted shouting at a visitor. “In any case,” she said, trying to change the topic as fast as possible, “how are your siblings?”

“I was worried about how Lars would take it, but he finally managed to get a ninety, so he’s got no reason to be upset.” 

That was good. In his letters, he had always been so upset about always falling just a little bit short of his goal, and, of course, the earlier he got into the habit of doing well, the better. “That’s great!” Donna said. “I see you’re all improving this year! I’m sure your dad is very proud of you.”

Shrugging, her daughter explained that he said he was proud of her no matter what. “I don’t think it changes anything,” she said. “He is happy and all, keeps on trying to give me advice on boys. But Grandpa and Grandma practically imploded from happiness when they found out my test results.”

That reminded Donna of something. “How _did_ they react when you said you wanted to be an engineer?”

“Oh, they were thrilled. Grandpa started telling stories from your university days.” Donna cringed. “Did you seriously go through first year on coffee and snack cakes?” Donna cringed even more.

“Not exactly,” she said lamely. “Only during exam season.”

Her daughter looked slightly shocked. “And did you really-”

Donna cut her off. “In any case, have they started giving you advice yet?”

“Mostly ‘just be like your mother and everything will be fine’, and also some muttered warnings about Uncle Alex.”

That was probably the worst possible way to phrase that. Donna was glad that her daughter didn’t feel uncomfortable at being like her, but her parents clearly hadn’t gained much in tact over the years. “Well, yes, but not when it comes to what you eat, alright?” she said, straining to keep her tone light. “And they don’t know that I was on the verge of breakdown half the time during the first year. Don’t be afraid to be a little bit vague when they ask you about marks. If they hound you over every little quiz - well, I’m sure you know.”

“I know.”

“I remember how once, I failed a chemistry midterm,” Donna reminisced. “I told nobody until I ended up passing the course, and even then, I only told your dad, not my parents. They still have no idea. Your dad was upset, though, he couldn’t understand why I didn’t trust him with such a little thing. It wasn’t a little thing to me, though.” Donna had a sudden idea. “I’m going to say that in my next letter,” she said with a grin. “Your uncle Alex will have a stroke.”

Her daughter giggled. “Grandma and Grandpa will faint.” Turning serious, she added, “I’m not really thinking about university yet. I have to get through this first.”

“At this rate, you will have no issue whatsoever getting in, and you need to plan ahead,” Donna pointed out. “Who knows, if I had thought about anything-” she cut off, trying to fight off the emotion. “I always just went along with what my parents said. It’s good that you made an independent decision. Even if it’s what was expected of you, the important thing is that you were the one who made the choice.”

“Uh, thanks.” She glanced at the wardens. “It just seemed like something I would enjoy doing.”

“I’m sure you will.”

* * *

Hunching against the drizzle that bordered on rain, Donna tried to explain the situation. “Apparently, the reason my daughter’s marks improved is because she started dating,” she said as the small cluster headed down the path. Alongside Rodriguez’s relatives being outraged at the fact that they hadn’t been allowed to his deathbed more than one at a time and the directors’ great debate on whether or not Aslanov’s upcoming heart surgery would be done outside the prison, her daughter’s much-improved marks were one of the topics all of the inmates wanted to know more about.

“That seems counterintuitive,” Theodosius said, pulling his cap lower to hide his face from the rain. “I remember when I started dating, it made me stop caring about school.”

“Are they tutoring her?” Vartha asked.

Donna shook her head. “Donna said he helps her study, so I assume he quizzes her and whatnot, but she also said he’s not very good at school. I think that maybe she was worried my parents would forbid it and justify themselves with her bad marks, so she leapt to deny them that opportunity. Since they were desperate to have her marks go up, they’re jumping for joy instead.” She shivered. She was wearing her thin sweater, as the warmer one was in a better state and thus reserved for visits. Maybe she should ask for a new one.

“And what does your husband think?” Vartha asked, visibly shaking from the cold. He wasn’t wearing a sweater at all, only his shirt sleeves peeked out from his jacket sleeves.

“He’s happy she’s doing well and keeps on trying to give her dating advice.” Donna realized she should have asked more about him. 

Theodosius jammed his hands deeper into his pockets. “That’s nice,” he said. “You were so worried about her, it’s good you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Now I’m worried something will happen and she won’t be able to keep it up,” Donna said. “She said she wants to be an engineer, though, so hopefully that will keep her motivated.”

Williamson, who had been silent up until then, spoke up. “A third-generation engineer, then?” she asked. 

“Fourth, actually. I’m beginning to suspect it runs in the family,” she joked.

Theodosius chuckled. “No wonder your poor brother had it so bad.”

The rain became softer, a fine mist-like drizzle. Donna straightened out, rolling her neck to get rid of the stiffness. Theodosius hopped over a small puddle and slipped in the mud, nearly falling down. “Nice,” Donna said as he regained his balance.

“Thanks.” Theodosius shook the water off his sleeves. “I hate this weather.”

Vartha looked down at his shoes, which were covered with mud. “At least we get some fresh air,” he said without conviction. 

“This is the third day in a row!” Williamson pointed out. “I just want to see the sun already.”

“Look on the bright side,” Donna said. “At least while it rains, they’re not going to make us dig in the mud. I’m not looking forward to that.” 

Glancing around, Williamson took something from her pocket and shoved it into her mouth at the speed of lightning. Before Donna could blink, she was walking along like nothing had happened. “Then don’t volunteer to dig up the beets, if you don’t want to get muddy.”

“I’m not going to slack off just because of a bit of mud,” Theodosius said stubbornly. They walked past the beets, whose leaves dripped with rainwater. Soon enough, that patch would be bare earth. Donna looked up at the leaden-grey sky, feeling the icy mist on her face. Even though the jacket was waterproof, she still felt chilly and slightly damp. From this far away it was impossible to see what the sentry in their tower was feeling, but they were probably just as miserable. They had to stay up there for two hours, after all. It was, however, possible to see that the machine gun wasn’t aimed at them but at the outside. It still looked strange to her, and for a second, Donna thought something was missing before she remembered.

Recently, there had been rumours that some former Peacekeeper general was planning to break into the Supermax. While journalists rapidly discovered that the aging veteran was too busy working as a mall cop to break anyone out of anywhere, the administration was still tense. Donna hadn’t realized that they would go so far as to decide that the external threat was greater.

“What are you thinking about?” Theodosius asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“The machine gun isn’t pointed at us,” she said, gesturing at the tower. “Still feels strange.”

Vartha nodded. “It’s nice that we’re not forgotten, at least.”

“Nice?” Williamson asked. “This isn’t the sort of attention that will help us in any way, shape, or form. Breakout, indeed!”

“So what?” Vartha said with a shrug. “No such thing as bad publicity, in my opinion. And in any case, everyone knows that story was nonsense.”

Williamson looked at him with an irritated expression. “No such thing, huh? I don’t think Rodriguez’s family appreciated it. If half the country thinks they should be afraid of us, the administration’s just going to tighten the screws.”

“Exactly,” Donna said. “They were trying to solve the issue quietly, and then this happens. Not that I think they were right to go to the media.”

“If not the media, then to whom?” Vartha parried. “Maybe we professionals have our old connections to rely on, but the Games functionaries have nobody.” He looked up at the sky. “I think the rain stopped.” While it was still chilly and damp, the drizzle was gone. Donna took her hands out of her pockets but put them back in after realizing that letting them hang by her sides meant them touching the wet fabric.

Williamson didn’t have the same problem, as her sleeves were so long, the tips of her fingers barely peeked out. “That is true. I understand the sentiment, but he didn’t deserve to be treated in such a way!”

Donna agreed with that sentiment. What good would come of forcing an old man to die in prison, rather than at home? It just looked like Thirteen was deliberately being as stringent as possible, interpreting the rules in such a way that the harshest possible measures were taken against the inmates. Odd, that the guards were so friendly, but the administration was so tough. 

“I’m worried it will cement the precedent,” Theodosius said. 

“I’m certain it will cement the precedent,” Donna snarked. “All that fuss his family kicked up, and still nothing? I wonder what the media said.”

Theodosius sighed. “That’s the question, isn’t it? We don’t even know what exactly his family did. We’re just going off a couple of vague phrases. For all I know, the ‘huge fuss’ was actually a single op-ed in some random tabloid.”

“Well, that’s the guards for you,” Vartha said darkly. “I’m aware of the littlest details of the fight they had with their significant other over videocall, but I don’t know what’s going on in my own house. We don’t even know the name of the Mayor of the Capitol!”

“What, you don’t agree that what someone’s spouse in Eleven thinks about their parenting abilities is more important than national politics?” Donna asked sarcastically.

The three laughed. “In any case,” Theodosius said, “what’s done is done. I see very little chance of us not spending quite a lot of time in here.”

Williamson looked ready to argue but said nothing. So did Vartha. Donna herself agreed with Theodosius, though she wasn’t going to give up. Livia and Dancer said that there were many influential people in industry who supported her. Maybe, with some more time, something would happen.

“Maybe in a few years, once all of this calms down,” Williamson said. She sounded desperate to believe her own words. “This is all so wrong. I shouldn’t even be here!” She looked around the yard and turned to Donna, who tensed. “Out of curiosity, what do your older children think of all this? Given their ages, I wonder what they know and don’t know.”

Donna let out the breath she had been holding. “Donna doesn’t really care for any of this stuff. Lars used to read newspapers and he’s also read the book by Aurelius and Mallow, he says that he still doesn’t understand, not that I disagree with him there, and I don’t know what the younger ones think.”

“Wait, isn’t your oldest son in middle school?” Vartha asked. “Seems a bit early for such a serious book.”

“All of my children read a lot,” Donna explained. “My husband heard from some experts that it’s good for children and young people to be readers, so he taught them very early and encouraged them constantly.” She wondered what Octavius was reading now. He was improving by leaps and bounds, apparently.

“That is very good,” Williamson declared. “None of my children were much for reading, and when they got to university, they struggled to write as much as a short essay. And you should see how many spelling mistakes they still make! Autocorrect won’t always help you. Your husband is a smart man.”

Wringing out his cap, Vartha made noises of assent. “Very true. My wife had the same problem with some of ours.” Vartha’s children were twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-five, and twenty-five. “The more they read as children, the better they did in school, even if the content had nothing to do with what they were studying. It trains the brain, you know.” He jammed his cap back on his head.

“Well, I’m sure my wife is thrilled that she has such a good proxy-uncle for her kids,” Theodosius said. “I’ll pass on to them that you approve.”

“Mr. Vartha, I think I have to disagree with you there,” Donna said. “After all, Donna did spend several years borderline failing school.”

Vartha shook his head. “Still proves my point, though. She recovered rapidly. You need to already have the potential to do well in order to achieve such drastic results.”

“I just hope she keeps it up.”

“I’m sure she will.”

* * *

After the usual pleasantries and asking what they were doing and if they were reading anything interesting, Donna decided to go ahead with her idea. After all, her parents’ wrath probably would not reach into here.

_Mom, Dad, I have a confession to make. Remember how in second year I was very evasive about my marks until I suddenly showed you my transcript? Well, that’s because I wasn’t doing too well. I struggled a lot in the beginning of the year, but then managed to rally and ace my exams, with lots of support from Dem. In chemistry, I actually failed one of my midterms, but still managed to pull off an A in the end. Crazy, right?_

Hopefully her parents wouldn’t explode too badly. Donna finished her letter and sat down on her cot, reaching for a book.

* * *

_Don’t say things like this, you’ll give your poor brother a heart attack! And if you heard a scream of horror on the fifteenth, that was your parents. Apparently, you managed to corrupt our daughter despite not even being here! Don’t worry, that was temporary and now they’re back to blaming me. Alex is indignant, though. He wants me to tell you that’s he’s very annoyed you managed to pull the wool over their eyes for half a year when every little one of his wrongdoings was immediately found out._

Dr. Chu was very interested in this new development.

“The part about your parents is a joke, right?” she asked as she put the letter back on the table. The chair creaked ominously under the weight of the average-sized woman. “You told me before the two of you use hyperbole a lot.”

“Yes, yes, he’s exaggerating here,” Donna rushed to explain. “I’m sure my parents grumbled a bit, and that was all. I don’t think they ever actually shouted because of me, not even when Dem and I got married without telling them, and they don’t really blame Dem for anything, not anymore.”

Dr. Chu reread the letter like it was a seized document written in a very obscuring language. “Are you glad you wrote about that to your family, now that you have the answer?” she asked.

About to respond in the affirmative, Donna realized where this was going and paused to think a little bit longer, kneading the purple ball. “Yes,” she said warily, “but honestly, I just thought it would make Donna feel a little bit better about herself, and I also thought my parents’ reactions would be funny. After all, I spent decades pretending to have always been the dutiful student.”

“But did you ever find yourself close to slipping?” Dr. Chu tapped her pen.

Why couldn’t she just come out and say what she meant? “No,” Donna said, playing along. “After all, I had an A+ average that year, so I almost never had to actually lie about the midterm or two I didn’t do so well on.”

“You have a very close relationship to your husband, and you never told even him.”

Squeezing the ball with her thumbs, Donna tried to explain it. “I got myself into a state where I almost believed it myself,” she said with a shrug. “I was fully aware of the truth, but my first instinct was to lie.” The psychologist had her right where she wanted. Donna braced for another round of questioning.

“Is this something you tend towards?” Dr. Chu asked.

“You know as well as I that I tended to close my eyes to the truth,” Donna said, looking her in the eye. “Not lie. I didn’t even know there was anything to lie about!”

“And the witnesses-”

Donna threw her hands in the air. “Witnesses claimed that they had seen Krechet when he had been in a different District at the time! It’s not like there’s a shortage of people who vaguely resemble me. They probably saw some local manager or other, then heard about me, and conflated the two.”

Dr. Chu leafed through her papers. For a terrible second Donna thought she was going to take out a photo of her at an execution or something else along those lines, but the psychologist just seemed to be looking at some old notes. “With the example of Krechet, though, the fact of his infamy is to blame. People knew to be afraid of him. What reason would people have to think of you in such a way?”

“I was the Head Engineer,” Donna explained, “responsible for all of the construction in the Wilds. It’s easy enough to assume I had supreme authority over all punishment, and from there, the reasonable conclusion is that I was present at executions. So if someone saw someone who looks like me, it’s reasonable that they thought she was actually me, especially if they saw her from far away or are bad with faces.”

Dr. Chu wrote all of that down. “Interesting,” she said. Donna rolled the ball between her palms, listening to the squishing sound and waiting for the next question.


	37. Decisions

“You four want to hear something interesting?” the warden asked. Donna, along with Blatt, Kremser, and Cast, paused her mopping to listen to the warden from Three, who was reading a novel. The four women shuffled closer to the table at which the other warden on duty, a woman from Nine, was reading from a thick book with ‘HIST 240 Course Readings’ emblazoned on the cover. ‘Something interesting’ always got their attention.

Donna studied the warden’s face. She didn’t look angry, so at least there was that. “To commemorate the fifth anniversary of the end of the fighting, a monument to the liberating soldier was put up in the Capitol. The ungrateful Capitolites, though, have taken to calling it the ‘Tomb of the Unknown Plunderer’, and now there’s a huge fight in op-eds and blog posts.”

The four inmates chuckled as the warden from Nine shook her head and continued to annotate her readings. Tomb of the Unknown Plunderer, indeed! The others would fall over laughing. The warden from Three, however, was not amused. “I guess it’s not as bad as it could be, if Capitolites themselves are speaking out against revanchism,” she admitted.

“Of course,” Donna said, moving her mop slightly so it didn’t drench her shoe. During the assault on the Capitol, robbery had been omnipresent. Many of the soldiers had been poor District workers, and they had jumped at the chance to snatch something nice for themselves and their families back home. The neighbourhood where her family lived was taken without a fight, resulting in the soldiers being less harsh with the inhabitants hiding in basements and subway tunnels. Good thing that Dem had decided to evacuate from their old house, which ended up being mostly destroyed by a pod, and not evacuate from her parents’ house. The thought of her children being there when the bombs fell still made Donna feel sick.

She resumed mopping the floor, mind stuck firmly in the past, trying to not laugh hysterically. Soldiers had burst into their house, stolen everything usable even if it was nailed down, eaten the food, cooed over Octavius, and confiscated the car in the name of the Rebellion. They hadn’t hurt anyone, though. The Rebellion’s soldiers had been too busy treating themselves to things they had been deprived of previously to care about the owners of said things, unless they had resisted. The few cases of rape and murder had been swiftly and harshly punished, making the soldiers even less interested in the people and even more - in the material goods. “An appropriate name,” Donna whispered to Cast. 

“No kidding,” she replied. “My parents have given up on trying to get our valuables back.”

“That’s the Districts for you,” Blatt said. “‘Liberating soldier’? Seriously? Nice words won’t change a marauding horde into heroic liberators. I’m surprised that the people are sticking up for them.” 

“You deny that they were liberators?” Donna asked, just for the sake of having something to argue about. Predictably, Blatt took the bait.

“Just because they knocked off Snow doesn’t mean they’re the good guys here,” she said, clutching at her mop. “You yourself don’t deny they were a bunch of thieves.”

Tapping her fingers against her mop, Donna wondered what would be the best approach here. “In the end, though, more than eighty percent of the Capitol is glad that the Rebellion happened.”

“Who told you that?” the warden from Three shouted, standing up slightly. Some of the guards acted outraged by how porous the walls of the Supermax were despite contributing to the gossip network themselves.

“In this case, you yourself,” Donna pointed out. That particular piece of information had been endlessly discussed a few weeks ago. The warden glared at her and sat back down.

Kremser was laughing quietly, face buried in her shoulder to muffle the sounds.

“In any case,” Donna told Blatt, “clearly the opinion the average person in the Capitol has of the Rebellion is quite high. Even if they don’t like what happened in the last phase of the fighting, they still generally approve.”

Leaning against the wall, Blatt crossed her arms on her chest. “Exactly. They don’t like what happened in the last phase of the fighting. To commemorate the Rebellion in general would be a good thing, but a reference to the fall of the Capitol specifically is way too far, in my opinion.”

“But aren’t the two tied together? After all, you can’t talk about the Rebellion without talking about how it ended.”

“It depends on what you emphasize,” Blatt explained. “Like you said, they approve of the Rebellion, but not of all its aspects. Stressing the one that most people rightfully despise was a very disrespectful move.” Kremser nodded.

Donna resumed mopping the floor, trying to think of a comeback. “But you can’t disentangle things from each other like that,” she pointed out. “In the memory of the average person in the Capitol, the best-known part of the Rebellion is probably the very end, just because they personally witnessed it.”

“You still don’t understand,” Blatt sighed. “The average person is glad that the regime is gone, but they don’t want what they went through rubbed in their faces like that. Especially if their children were there when Thirteen dropped those bombs.” Donna glanced at the wardens, but they were pretending to be too interested in their respective reading material to care.

* * *

After lunch, everyone was shocked to see Aslanov already back, though he didn’t walk around, instead sitting on a bench. He had undergone surgery a while back, and had been in the infirmary for over a week, with nobody allowed to visit him. After a lengthy debate on whether or not he could be moved from the prison, the decision was that he could not be. Thus, one of the most respected cardiac surgeons in the country, a former defector now living in Twelve, ended up operating in a former torture chamber under the gaze of four guards.

“How did it go?” they demanded to know. 

“Fine,” Aslanov said. He looked healthy, though exhausted, and was clearly trying to hide the pain he was in. “Can’t say the same for one of the guards. He fainted.”

“What did the surgeon think of that?” Katz asked as the inmates all chuckled.

“Oh, she was furious. Good thing I was unconscious at the time, or I would have been terrified. As soon as she was done with her job, she tore into him.” Aslanov cracked a small smile. “When I woke up, he was feeling worse than me!”

“What was the room like?” Holder asked. “Did it look like a torture chamber?”

“No, it’s just a normal room,” Aslanov said with a shrug. “Like one of our cells, but larger, and crammed with a bunch of medical equipment. There were a few uneven spots in the ceiling where hooks must have been, though.” Donna shuddered slightly as Aslanov continued his tale. “It was very cold,” he complained. ”In the infirmary, at least, they got a plug-in heater. And the food was better.”

Everyone leaned in closer, wanting to hear more about the food.

“The orderlies told me that it’s the kind of food people eat in hospitals. I got this amazing apple sauce, I swear there was sugar added, it was so sweet. And I’ve never had soup that good in my life. Best thing is, I’m supposed to get a special diet for a while, so I’ll be eating like this for days to come!” Donna felt extremely jealous as Aslanov smiled widely. “Almost makes it worth it. They’re not even allowed to search me!”

“Hopefully they actually don’t,” Li said darkly. The guards tended to not respect those regulations. “Are you sure you should be outside so soon?” he asked. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine,” Aslanov waved him away. “It’s just for a few minutes, to breathe some fresh air. I’m confined to my cot otherwise, so you’ll have to handle everything.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Aslanov,” Li said in a kind voice. “We got you. You won’t be bored for a single second.” He reached out and patted the older man on the shoulder. “The orderly is overrated anyway,” he added with a smile. The male orderly was in fact nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Li. If you’ll forgive me, I think I need to lie down now.” Gingerly, he rose to his feet, not taking Li’s proffered hand for support, and slowly walked the few metres towards the exit. Donna watched one of the guards lounging against the door open it up to let him in.

The huge cluster broke up rapidly, everyone getting into groups to discuss the situation. “I hope he’s alright,” Theodosius said anxiously to Donna. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“I hope so, too. I hope he gets to leave this place.” If Aslanov made a full recovery, it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for him to live to eighty-nine, the age at which his sentence would be up. Given that he was already having severe problems with his heart, though, that was very unlikely.

They walked along the wall, Theodosius running a hand over it. “It’s giving me anxiety,” he confessed. “I don’t want him to die. I don’t want anyone else to die. I don’t want to be left alone. They don’t deserve to wither away in here.”

“Same,” Donna said. It felt like there was a hand somewhere, pen hovering over paper, just waiting for the chance to cross off another name from the list of the inmates of the Supermax. “You won’t be alone, though. I’ll still be around, after all.”

Theodosius smiled weakly at her. “Imagine that, the two of us all alone in here. We’d drive each other insane within the hour.”

“Good thing we have the lifers, then.” Donna had done the morbid calculation. There were twenty-one inmates who, barring any significant changes on the outside, would never leave. Of those, fifteen or so would most likely still be alive when Donna and Theodosius were released, and the others also had good chances of making it that long. “You know,” she admitted, “I’ve thought about who will and won’t die before we get out. Assuming we don’t get released early, that is.” She had received a clandestine note from Dr. Fisher recently, in which her lawyer said that sentences were not being reviewed at the moment, but he would alert her as soon as there was movement on that front.

“Me, too.” Theodosius ran a hand through his hair. “Makes me feel terrible, but I can’t make myself stop.”

They walked in silence for a brief while. “I heard something interesting just before lunch, when I was cleaning the corridor,” Donna said.

Theodosius whirled around to face her. “Do tell.”

“In the Capitol, there’s now a monument to the ‘liberating soldier’, but everyone’s calling it the ‘tomb of the unknown plunderer’ instead.”

The misery slid off his face as Theodosius snickered. “They’re not wrong,” he said. “There’s someone out in the Districts still using Cynthia’s best frying pan. And I can’t even guess at what happened to our car.”

“Same,” Donna said. “Ours is still missing.” 

“By the way, would Shetkovi be willing to drive Primus for his visit next week? Cynthia’s coworker had something come up.”

“Of course,” Donna said without thinking. Livia already drove Donna’s family for their visits, surely she wouldn’t mind helping out Cynthia. “I’ll tell her.”

Theodosius smiled slightly at her. “Thanks. After all, I want to congratulate him on his report card in person.”

“How did he do?” Donna asked. Her own children’s marks had also been dutifully sent to her this morning, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to share with Theodosius yet as the morning walk had been spent arguing about Aslanov. 

“Well enough. A’s and B’s in everything, just like the rest,” he said proudly. “Yours?”

“Same. Donna’s average is ninety-two, and Lars is very upset he was unable to get straight A’s. The younger ones are a mix of A’s and B’s.”

“Ouch,” Theodosius said. “What dragged him down?”

“B+ in drama, of all things. He has no idea why, he loves the class and the teacher is kind.”

Theodosius shook his head. “Well, he’s only in grade eight, it’s not a problem. Still hurts, though. I remember I was quite a perfectionist back then.”

They turned down the path, snow squeaking under their boots. Donna had recently requested a new pair, and was eagerly awaiting it any week now. “Same,” she said, “though I was more afraid of parental wrath more than anything. Around middle school is when my parents realized Alex would not continue the family tradition.” 

“At least that’s not under threat,” Theodosius joked.

“I’ve been worrying lately,” Donna said. “How will she be treated? I know she says that nobody ever bothers her, but she’s still in school, after all. What about when she applies to university? Or for a job? What if someone takes their anger out on her?”

Theodosius looked contemplative. “Takes out their anger - of what?” he asked. “Anger at anyone who is connected to the regime? Anger at you for taking responsibility? I, for one, look forward to the editorials when a true believer confronts her.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Donna snapped. “Primus is in middle school. He’s old enough to understand, too. Have you started thinking about how you will explain things to him?”

“I am perfectly aware of that,” Theodosius said irritably. “I just tried to make a joke out of it because I can’t stand it, either.”

“True.” Donna looked up at the cloudy sky. The cold hit the exposed part of her neck immediately, so she adjusted her scarf to cover her better. A light snow began to fall. “Oh, no,” she groaned.

“Maybe it won’t become a heavy snowfall,” Theodosius said, though he didn’t sound very convinced.

Donna caught several snowflakes on her gloved hand. “Is it snowing where you are?” she asked. 

“No, no, it’s too far south,” Theodosius said with a vacant smile. His trip south along the coast was still going strong. “It’s not exactly warm there, but it’s not cold, either.”

“That’s nice.”

“Very nice.” He refocused suddenly, glancing around at the trees. “Dr. Chu is worried I’m losing the ability to tell what’s real from what’s not real,” he said in a worried tone.

“But it’s only for one hour each day,” Donna pointed out, “and you don’t lose your grasp on reality!”

Theodosius shrugged, staring at an apple tree. He ran a hand through his hair and readjusted his cap, which was knocked askew by the motion. “That’s what I told her. She just tapped her pen on her clipboard, wrote something down, and told me that we’ll talk about it again later.”

“Sounds like Dr. Chu.”

“I actually got a book about Three,” he said, “or whatever it’s called now.” While neither the country nor the Districts ended up being renamed, the more nationalistically-minded tended to use alternative names regardless. “It ends with the First Rebellion, of course, but still better than nothing.”

That sounded interesting. “So will you go into Three itself?”

Theodosius shook his head. “They’d just arrest me. Safer on the outskirts.”

“Huh.”

* * *

In the gym, everyone continued discussing Aslanov, not stopped by the fact that he wasn’t there. “He seems to be doing as well as he should be,” Li said, sewing a zipper onto his sweater. “And he gets extra food, too. The orderly told me.”

“ _Extra_ food?” several voices asked. Donna looked up from the sleeve she was making.

Li nodded, shoving his needle through the fabric. “Several hundred extra calories. For health reasons.”

What sort of health reasons would be needed for that? Donna wondered what the odds of her getting some of that extra food were, and so did everyone else, judging from their facial expressions. 

“It’s not fair,” Katz said. “If they can feed one person better, surely they can feed all of us better.”

“Of course they _can_ ,” Stein muttered under his breath. “They _can_ do literally anything to us.”

“True,” Li said. “Everything they do is on purpose. I just don’t see why they’d need or want to limit us in food.”

Stein nodded his assent. “I swear, when I get out, I’m never eating any of the stuff they feed us ever again.”

“As if it’s any worse than Peacekeeper rations,” Katz pointed out. “It’s better, in fact.”

“I don’t want to eat rations ever again, either. I want to eat normal food. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Yes,” Donna said sardonically. “You have to eat the same porridge for four meals in a row and say ‘thank you’. The director from Thirteen will be very sad if you don’t.”

The little group chuckled quietly, and Donna felt a warm sense of satisfaction.

“I bet it’s all Thirteen,” Li said quietly, though the odds were that the guard from Thirteen perchednearby in a chair with a book could hear him regardless. “They’re the ones always pushing for a harsher interpretation of the rules. I wonder what it takes for them to become less stringent. So far, it appears that only severe disease can make them back off.”

Grass was always going on about how the Supermax was a battleground, with the Districts competing for influence and trying to pressure each other into following a certain course of action. According to her, since Thirteen had spent seventy-five years as the heart of organized resistance and the place where the defectors gathered, they were more obsessed with being tough on the inmates from an ideological standpoint than the outer Districts, who still boiled with anger at what they had been subjected to but had no ideology per se to motivate them, only righteous fury that often dissipated after some time spent here. Thus, while the directors from the outer Districts were about as likely as the director from Thirteen to do anything nice for the inmates, the guards tended to be kinder, especially after a long time. 

Donna resolved to write that down that evening. It was, as every other analysis of the situation by Grass, carefully thought out and very plausible. She’d just have to ask Grass for what she thought about the role the inner Districts played. Then, Donna would be able to explain to her family what kind of currents flowed here.

“By the way Mr. Li, do you think Aslanov would like some company this evening?” Theodosius asked.

“This evening is already taken by Longview. You can go in tomorrow morning after breakfast, clean the cell and whatnot.”

“The orderly must be so happy to have you men around,” Katz said, shaking her head. “Can’t you just make him do his actual job instead of playing chess with a guard?”

“I doubt the orderly is willing to spend hours reading out loud. And I’m sure you women will do the same thing when one of you becomes severely ill.” Li bit off the thread and stuck the needle into his shoe. He laid out the sweater on his lap, doing up the zipper and smoothing it out with a slight smile. It looked like something you could buy in a store.

Strata leaned over to look at the sweater. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I wish I could make something like that.” She herself was working on a plain sweater, without any decoration.

“It’s not that difficult,” Li said as he folded the sweater carefully. “I’m sure you’ll get to that point in no time.” He took the needle from his shoe and walked towards one of the wardens. After handing back the sweater and the needle, he sat down, made a loop in his yarn, and started a new chain. 

“I hope so,” Strata said with a sigh, holding up the panel she was working on. 

With a hiss, Katz uncurled her hand and began to massage her fingers. Recently, she had started taking more and more breaks, as her finger joints simply couldn’t take it. Shoving her hook into her ball of yarn, she did some finger stretches. “You alright?” Li asked her.

“Just my arthritis,” Katz complained. “I swear my hands are deteriorating by the hour.”

“Ouch,” said Li. His own fingers were dancing so fast, Donna couldn’t figure out what exact motions he was making. “You should ask for an ergonomic handle for the hook.”

Donna was fairly certain that the odds of that happening were not too far off the odds of Katz being released early. “You think they’ll do that?” she asked.

“They have to, if they want us to crochet for four hours at a time.”

That was true. Katz nodded appreciatively at hearing that logic. “I’ll ask for one during my next checkup.”

“I was talking to Grass during the walk,” Li continued, “and she said that they’re getting laxer and laxer when health is on the line. A guard told her that they’re actually not going to search Aslanov until the doctors say so.” Since the decisions made by the doctors also had to be unanimous, a single dissenting voice would prevent Aslanov from being searched.

“Now if only that actually happened,” Katz said cynically.

“Can’t Thirteen just barge in, like they did with Rodriguez?” Strata asked.

“Not if the decision was already made,” Li explained. “They’ve bound themselves to it. Ask Grass, she’s the one who explained it to me.”

“Well, if Grass said so-” Stein cut off, shrugging. Donna moved the sweater in her lap to untwist the sleeve, careful to not tangle the yarn hopelessly. 

Katz was still stretching her fingers, doing odd-looking little motions. “I got a book of exercises for arthritis,” she said, noticing Donna watching. “I really need to take it easier, but there’s nothing else to do.” Even sitting and talking for hours was insanely boring. Having something productive to do made it easier.

Donna finished a row and counted how many she had already made. Two more, and she would be done with this sleeve. She chained two and continued with the half-double crochet. The sleeves were half-double crochet all the way through, but the front of the torso had a few cables, which had been a huge pain to make. Donna couldn’t understand why Li loved them so much, he was willing to make a sweater that appeared to be a hundred percent cable. 

“Mr. Coll, how are your children?” Strata asked.

“They sent me their marks. They’re all doing well.”

“And you, Mrs. Blues? How’s your eldest doing?”

“Got an average of ninety-two.”

“Wow,” Li said. “That’s, what, thirty percent higher than last year?” Donna nodded. “Your daughter is seriously hardworking.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell her that.”

Katz appeared to be deep in thought. “I don’t even remember what marks I had when I was at the Academy.” 

“If you were sent to Nine, clearly they were adequate,” Li said. “My academics were fine, but I was too good at hand-to-hand to be sent off to the middle of nowhere.”

“I did well, too, but I don’t recall anyone ever improving that fast,” Stein said. “Some people deteriorated over time, but nobody just leapt into the stratosphere like that. Even the kids in the cheating ring didn’t improve that fast.”

Katz carefully picked up her hook and resumed crocheting. “I remember how a few cadets got busted for cheating,” she said.

Donna leaned slightly closer, eager to hear more. This wasn’t a story she had ever heard before. “What happened?” she prompted.

Looking around at the little cluster of listeners, Katz put down her hook and began. “It was when I was in grade twelve. They had me in an advanced physics class, as I had gotten good marks the previous year, and it was _advanced_. My marks collapsed practically overnight. And since we had no control over what classes we took, that put an end to my plan to go into advanced technical training.” She sighed. “A few others who were struggling started paying someone who _was_ doing well to do their assignments for them. The idea was that they’d pretend that they understood the material well enough if they had their notes with them but the tests were simply too hard. I did something similar, actually, I would copy from a friend of mine and add minor mistakes, so it didn’t look suspicious. I got away with it, but the instructor caught the others eventually. The administration was furious, but since this was a physics class, they simply all found themselves in Twelve after graduation.”

“Twelve was total trash,” Stein said dismissively. “What a waste of a first tour. I think I was the only Peacekeeper at the time who didn’t spend half their time eating stew at the black market. I swear half the force didn’t even carry their weapons with them on patrol.”

“It didn’t get any better by 72,” Weiss said from behind him. Donna had to strain to hear her. “I have no idea what Snow was thinking. Fifteen thousand people crawling in a pile of coal dust, what a shitty parody of a District. The stew was made from literal trash and the men were all so skinny, you could count their ribs.”

“Same, but I preferred the women. Half of them were underage on top of that,” Stein complained, “and I always felt terrible telling them to go away because I could see they were hungry, but the Head back then had a file on everyone and I didn’t want to add to mine.”

Weiss shook her head in disbelief. “When I got there, the Head was the sort to give you advice on that front. Then Thread turned up and ruined everything.” Weiss had been one of the very few Peacekeepers in Twelve who stayed on after Thread’s arrival.

“Thread was acting on Snow’s orders,” Katz pointed out. Donna turned back around and resumed crocheting. The former Peacekeepers’ back-and-forth bickering about responsibility was not something she wanted to hear yet again.

* * *

Donna’s door opened, and a sympathetic warden ordered her out. It was time for her biweekly checkup. As the warden led her down the corridor and opened the cell block gate, Donna could see other guards going into her cell to search it. In the stairwell, she and the warden exchanged the contents of their pockets. Donna gave the warden several days’ worth of notes, and the warden gave her two small pastries. One of them Donna immediately stuffed in her mouth, savouring the taste, the other one she broke in half, offering the bigger piece to the warden , who took it with a smile. The other half, Donna likewise ate. They were amazing, soft and sweet. She’d have to thank Dem for them.

“You have crumbs on your mouth,” the warden said quietly. Officially, she was not allowed to speak to them. Donna wiped at her mouth with the back of a hand. “Better.”

There was nobody in the second-floor corridor, and their footsteps echoed loudly in the emptiness. Donna walked into the infirmary and stood in front of the orderly’s desk, doffing her cap. “Good afternoon, Female Nine, how are you feeling?” the orderly asked, handing Donna a pair of manicure scissors.

“Mostly fine,” Donna replied as she trimmed her nails and tossed the clippings into a small trash can nearby. “The food-”

“You, too?” the orderly asked with a sigh. 

Donna smiled sheepishly. “I thought it was worth a shot.”

“One person brags about his special diet, and everyone comes running!” the orderly said, throwing her hands in the air, though she didn’t look upset. “Any requests I can actually fulfill?”

“I need more pads.” The orderly reached under her table and gave her a large handful. This was a new brand, and as Donna put them in her pockets, it took her effort to not look visibly triumphant. The paper wrapping was something she could write on. “Um, do you have a smaller size?”

“No, we’re out.”

“Fine.” After all, better a size too large than a size too small, even if Donna wasn’t enthusiastic about trying to jam a pad the size of a sponge into her underwear without actual need. “Nothing else.”

“Take off your shoes and step on the scale.” Donna did as requested, watching the numbers change.

“Come on, orderly, forty-nine point eight?” she asked when the numbers stabilized. “That’s clearly underweight! I should be at least fifty-one!” Usually, she hovered just around that mark.

The orderly was unimpressed. “With your frame? You’d still be in perfect health with a few less kilograms.” 

“But the regulations say we should be at a healthy weight!” Donna insisted as she pulled on her thin shoes.

“Which you are,” the orderly insisted. She herself didn’t have an extra gram of fat on her, but was much broader in the hips and shoulders than Donna. “BMI is just a guideline, the cutoffs are not absolute. While it is accurate to say-”

Donna did not care about what was accurate or not. “Of course, orderly,” she said, jamming her cap back on her cap. “Have a good day.”

The warden walked her back down the corridor and down the stairs. “Everything fine?” the guard asked.

“The orderly is really stretching credulity,” Donna complained quietly. “If I’m underweight, then I’m underweight. The regulations say so.”

“You’re not the one who interprets them, though,” the warden pointed out.

Donna sighed. “I know.” They entered the cell block and the warden led Donna to her cell, shutting the door behind her with a familiar clang. Donna took the pads from her pocket and put them on the shelf above the sink in an unsteady stack. She put her cell in order, as it looked like a tornado had hit it, or at least a warden who had been caught napping at her post by her own director two days ago.

It was so annoying that nobody could agree on how the regulations were to be followed. As far as Donna could tell, each of the directors interpreted the prison rules differently. While they seldom shouted at each other in front of the inmates, their weekly meetings must truly have been something to behold. Thirteen people trying to agree on something, and each with veto power? It was hard to believe the force of all the arguments hadn’t shaken the prison to its foundations yet, but then again, at the end of the day, nobody truly cared about the sixty-three Supermaxers.


	38. Scraps

Even before Donna was fully awake, she was leaping out of bed and tossing back the blankets. She couldn’t quite see anything, though. The searchlights outside made it bright enough to see by, but not enough to detect bloodstains. In any case, she could definitely feel that she was bleeding. Donna hated being caught unawares like that. She was forty-two, after all, how could her own body surprise her like that? She cleaned herself up in the darkness, sticking the wrapper from the pad in her pocket. Now that they were waxed only on one side, they were perfect writing material.

The light suddenly turned on just as Donna was trying to feel if there was any blood on her trousers. It turned out that there wasn’t, fortunately, which meant that the sheets had also escaped. Sighing with relief, she put the trousers back on. She finished getting dressed, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair as guards marched down the corridor. After making her bed and doing her morning workout, she had to wait until her door unlocked. Donna read a few pages until she finally heard the sound.

“Good morning,” she said to Grass. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Alright, I suppose,” Donna conceded as they joined the queue. “Nearly got blood everywhere, but I woke up just in the nick of time.”

“The joys of being young,” Hope said, turning around to face her. “I wake up feeling like I lost a fight with Li, but at least I don’t do so in a puddle of blood.”

“I’m not exactly spry in the mornings, either,” Donna pointed out. Hope gave her a bemused look and turned back around, craning her head to see the guards entering with the food cart and mail.

The food turned out to be the exact same as yesterday, and the day before. “I’m sure you already get bulk discounts as is,” Donna complained as she took her tray, “is it really necessary to get so much it takes days to eat it?” The letter, she placed in her pocket.

One of the guards chuckled but said nothing. Donna walked back with her tray. Vegetable-and-bean stew, a very sad-looking apple, dark flat bread, and an empty cup. For a second, Donna thought she could hear Holder screaming with frustration over in the men’s wing. “That’s it,” Grass said, glaring at her tray. “I’m complaining to my wife. I’m sure she’ll be able to read between the lines.”

“I tried that already. He wrote back saying he was very glad I was eating a balanced diet.” To make matters worse, that had been a clandestine message, and she had spelled everything out in detail.

Grass chuckled. “Maybe I’ll get my wife to spread the word.” Donna glanced at a nearby guard, but she didn’t react. “Enjoy your meal!”

“I’ll try,” Donna said as she stepped into her cell. The door was left wide open, and she could see the others walk by. Donna filled her cup with water and dug into her meal without much enthusiasm. While she was hungry, she was also feeling some mild cramps, and that pain added to how sick she was of the stew was just barely outweighed by her ravenous hunger. To add insult to injury, the bread was stale and the apple was mushy, as if one was meant to compensate for the other. Donna longed for one of Dem’s snacks. Even his vegetable stew would have been preferable. Donna drank some more water to get the taste out of her mouth, rinsed off her spoon and tray, and went to exchange them for a broom, cloth, and dustpan. The letter, she left on the table. She’d read it in the evening.

As she swept the dust into the corridor, Donna heard two guards whispering to each other. She hovered by the door frame, pretending to be busy.

“Barl just told me Hryb’s refusing to get of bed.”

“What, again? I swear, that man lives to antagonize us. Did they toss him on his ass?”

“Yep. Took away his mattress, too.”

The second guard sighed audibly. “I thought they’d never agree.”

“Well, that’s Two for you. If they can be contrary, they will be.”

“At least they agreed in the end.”

“And a good thing they did. Just because Hryb’s the youngest by ten years doesn’t mean he can act like a child whenever he wants.”

“I swear, if I wrote a book about this, nobody would ever believe me.”

The first guard giggled.

“What is it?” the second guard asked.

“Not where the inmates can hear.” 

The guards fell silent, so Donna finished sweeping the dust into the dustpan and carried it to the bucket. What had the first guard been giggling about? As Donna got dressed for the walk, she tried to logic it out, ignoring the possibility that it was something completely unrelated, which was, of course, a possibility. The second guard mentioned writing a book. Donna hadn’t heard of anyone writing books about the Supermax specifically, although that was one hypothesis. 

She focused on the phrasing as she pulled on her nice new boots and did up the laces, running it over and over in her mind as she went outside. _If I wrote a book about this, nobody would ever believe me._ Maybe she had been thinking about an article in a newspaper? Those still came out from time to time. Maybe one of the interior guards or wardens had given an interview, and the second guard still hadn’t been able to find out about it.

Outside, she made a beeline for Theodosius. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I overheard the guards.” Theodosius looked slightly disappointed at not being able to share the news, so she rushed to reassure him. “I’m sure you have more details, though.”

“What did they say?” he asked as they set off down the path.

“Just that Hryb got tossed out of bed and got his mattress taken away. Apparently, the directors argued a lot over whether they should do it and Two was against.”

Theodosius nodded. “Interesting, that bit about Two. And you’re right, that is what happened. He tried to insist that he didn’t need to follow the rules, but the guards didn’t take kindly to that.”

“There was also something interesting I overheard,” Donna said, pulling up her scarf so that it covered her mouth. “One of the guards said that if she wrote a book about this, nobody would believe her, and the other guard laughed. When the first guard asked what was so funny, the second one said that she couldn’t say it where we could hear.”

“Interesting,” said Theodosius. “You think there’s a book out there about us? Besides the one by Aurelius and Mallow.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Either a book about the Supermax, or a newspaper article, or something along those lines. Maybe one of the wardens gave an interview or something.” 

Theodosius squinted as he looked past her at the snow-covered field. It was relatively warm, but still below zero. “I don’t think that explains the laughter on its own, though. Maybe the way it was received?”

“That would fit with the bit the guard said about not being believed. Do you have any other hypotheses?”

“Maybe a book or article not about us, but a similar situation?” Theodosius looked like he didn’t quite believe his own words.

“What similar situation? Irons herself said we’re unique.” The Chief Prosecutor from Thirteen had said in her powerful opening statement that this kind of national tribunal had never happened before.

“She didn’t say we were unprecedented, though,” Theodosius argued, sounding more and more convinced. “Remember how they referred to a whole bunch of cases? Maybe some of them had been similar in some way.”

“Then why don’t we know about them?” Donna pointed out. “I’m sure the newspapers would have said that our trial is just like something from the past. Or the guards would have jumped to tell us about our predecessors.”

“That’s true.” Theodosius unzipped his jacket slightly and spread out his scarf so that it covered more of his neck. “In that case, we would already know.” He fell silent for a while. “Interesting, that the directors had a whole argument about the mattress being taken out. We had no idea.”

“They do a good job of pretending that their house is united within itself as never before,” Donna joked, quoting Irons.

Theodosius laughed. “What was it she said? ‘It is said that a house divided against itself cannot stand, so for the Districts to stand united as never before’, something about staying the hand of vengeance?”

“That was Paylor,” Donna clarified. “Irons just said that ‘for the Districts to stand united together as never before, having thrown off the shackles of bondage, and to treat their oppressors with the fairness they themselves were denied is a sign that the new Panem will be built on a foundation of justice and integrity, rather than terror and cruelty.’”

Shivering slightly, Theodosius shook his head. “You know that all by heart just from hearing it once?”

“I recall one word, and then I recall the next, and the next.” Donna reached up to adjust her scarf, which went around her neck and then looped up around her ears to protect them as well. “I don’t know much more than that, though. There was something like ‘No matter where you hail from, there will be evidence shown that will shock you to the core of your being.’”

“She wasn’t wrong there,” Theodosius said sourly. Donna nodded, remembering the footage from the famine of 31-32. It wasn’t just the famine, though, it was Twelve during the firebombing, the Special Prison in Two from where just two survivors emerged, the endless shootings and beatings from coast to coast. And, of course, the witnesses testifying about what had seemed like every possible atrocity. “There was also something about the international community.”

Donna tried to remember what he was talking about but could recall nothing. “I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t blame you; it was at the very end. I think she either called them out or advised them.”

“Those are very different things.” Donna tried once again to link the words to something in her memory. “Was that when she talked about creating a precedent that others could follow?”

“Maybe?” Theodosius took his hands from his pockets, rubbed them together, then shoved them back into his pockets. “My memory’s nowhere near as good as yours.”

Up ahead, there was a section of the path that was covered with pebbles. The other day, they had covered the icy sections of the path with them, and now, they creaked under her new boots. Donna’s feet were very warm. They continued walking in silence, listening to Best and Verdant argue a few metres behind them about submarines and Hannah Bronstein’s escape from One.

“It was because of the lack of funds that the patrols had to be reduced!” Best said. “And where did the funds go, if not to line the pockets of the paper-pushers?”

“So what that the patrols were reduced?” Verdant argued. Donna could hear his foot drag on the tightly-packed snow. “Smugglers had been helping defectors since before your time, and the pods were so thick in the water, the non-patrolled areas were impossible to cross except in one case. One.” He emphasized the last word strongly.

Best was not impressed by that line of reasoning, Donna could tell that without turning around. “The blow to the prestige of the Coast Guard caused by Bronstein-”

“Oh, don’t amuse my slippers, what prestige? If it could be destroyed by a single eighteen-year-old’s feat of long-distance swimming, it wasn’t much of a prestige. I had to pick up the pieces after you.”

Donna leaned over to Theodosius and whispered, “I have to agree with that.” They sped up slightly so that they could talk a little bit louder.

“Me, too,” Theodosius said. “Who could have even imagined that it was possible to _swim_ across the Divide? It took her, what, fifteen hours? If such an exceptional case can have such a tremendous impact, surely something deeper is wrong here.”

“I still can’t believe she did it. It says a lot about Snow that someone was willing to do that just to get away - and someone in a position of relative privilege on top of that.” If the child of two doctors living in One had been so desperate to leave she swam all the way to South America, what did that say about the lives of everyone else?

* * *

Back in her cell, Donna hung up her jacket and scarf, put on her thin shoes, and held her hands close to the radiator to warm them up. She didn’t as much as glance at the letter, wanting to leave it for the evening. Her hands prickled slightly, and it was impossible to bend them quickly. When she went off to the gym, she rubbed her hands together and blew on them as she walked down the corridor.

“Cold?” Katz asked.

“No,” Donna lied. “My hands are numb, though.” They walked into the gym and took their seats on their benches, picking up their projects. 

“Hey,” Theodosius said, sitting down next to her. “Aslanov’s back to work today, though only for an hour or so.”

“That’s great!” Donna said.

Li agreed. “It’s nice to have someone actually get better, instead of worse.”

“Is he going to go outside after lunch?” Donna asked.

“No,” Li said, “but I can pass on a message.”

Strata spoke up. “Tell him we’re all glad he’s getting better.”

“Of course,” Li said, readjusting his grip on his yarn. He was making a sweater fit for a toddler. Donna imagined a little orphan somewhere out in the Districts being gifted the sweater. She glanced down at the rectangle she was working on. Her sweaters as well were probably being worn at that exact moment, and she would never find out.

“So,” Katz asked, “what do you all think about Hryb?”

“There’s no way he’s faking,” Donna said. “Nobody can pretend to act like a six-year-old all the time.”

Theodosius shook his head. “If Yark can pretend to be catatonic, he can pretend to have no self-control whatsoever.”

“That’s different,” Katz pointed out. “She’s doing it to save her life. As far as I know, nobody’s considering releasing Hryb for reasons of insanity.”

Li froze. “Wait a second,” he said. “What if someone does go insane, or they develop dementia? Surely they can’t keep someone in prison when they don’t understand why they’re there.”

How had she never wondered that before? Donna stopped crocheting and tried to remember if anyone had ever mentioned anything like that. 

“It’s less of an issue than you think,” Theodosius said. “By the time the person gets to the point where they do not remember major events in their life, they probably need round-the-clock care anyway.”

“So you’re saying that if I develop Alzheimer’s, they’ll just move me to the infirmary and tell me I’m in a hospital,” Li said. He rubbed his face with his hands. “Well, as long as I get the necessary care, I’m sure I won’t see a reason to complain. I hope the orderly feels awkward when I ask why there are locked gates everywhere,” he added darkly.

Theodosius looked as shocked as Donna felt. “You never told us you have a family history,” he said quietly.

“My mother is starting to decline,” Li replied sadly. “I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. And there’s nobody on the outside who’ll stick up for me.”

Donna did the calculations. Assuming none of them got released early, Li would start showing symptoms right around when she and Theodosius left. “Maybe the administration will release people who legitimately don’t understand what’s happening around them,” she tried to reassure Li.

“But by that point, I will be too far gone to benefit from it!” Li said, looking utterly devastated. Several of the guards looked to be listening carefully to the conversation. 

Strata tried to console him. “Who knows what can happen in twenty years. Maybe they’ll close down the prison before then!”

“That’s the hope,” Li said with a sad smile. “That, and hope that I didn’t inherit it.”

“That it is,” Katz echoed him.

* * *

Lunch proved to be buckwheat with vegetables, several pieces of canned pear, a tiny loaf of black bread, and lukewarm tea. Finally, something else! Donna placed her tray on her table and dug in enthusiastically. Everything was very warm. The buckwheat was warm, the pears were warm for some reason, the bread was warm, and the tea was warm. Donna clutched her cup with both hands, trying to heat them.

Ignoring the letter was almost impossible, but Donna forced herself to not touch it. She could see that there was a photograph inside. Was this the updated family photo? It took all of Donna’s self-control to not pick it up and look at it. The more time she could spend this evening just reading the letter and looking at the photo, the better. Some of the others were of a different opinion, though. Donna could hear them discussing their letters as they went for their afternoon walk.

“I can’t wait to see the photo,” she told Theodosius. He wasn’t wearing his scarf, and even had his jacket slightly unzipped.

“You’ll have to tell me tomorrow, then,” he said. “I can’t wait for mine to arrive.”

“Mrs. Blues?” Melton called out from behind them. Donna and Theodosius reluctantly stopped to let him and Oldsmith catch up. They hated having to talk to Oldsmith.

“Yes?”

“Were you present at the planning conference for the Seventy-Fourth Games?”

“Which one?” Donna asked warily, unsure of what Melton wanted from her. “I wasn’t there at the preliminary one, that was before my promotion.” Arenas had taken about five years to build. “I remember one of the first things I did after the promotion was attend a progress report for the Seventy-Fourth.”

“Was it the one we were both present at?” The four of them resumed walking, Theodosius staying with them even though he had nothing to do with the topic being discussed.

“Yes,” Donna said confidently. Of course, she didn’t remember who exactly had been present, but she did know that various technicians and industrialists had been there, which meant Melton, the head of the Games department at the Electrical Works, and no Games conference could have happened without a representative from Snow, which guaranteed the presence of Oldsmith, his secretary.

“Do you remember the speech Crane made?” Oldsmith asked. “We have a bit of a disagreement on the details of what he said, and you’re the only other person who was there.”

“It wasn’t much of a speech,” Donna said, confused. Had they gotten the date wrong? It’s not like there had been a shortage of meetings and conferences. “He just told us to not slack off just because the Quarter Quell would be next.” There had been a real worry for several months that a large portion of the landscaping would have to be scrapped (fortunately for Donna, it had been easy as anything to pin it on her predecessor), and the Gamemakers had been justifiably anxious.

Melton leaned towards her slightly. “Yes, but what exactly did he say about the Quell?”

“Directly? Not a word. Indirectly? Implied it would be something to behold. What does it matter, really? All of us there were working on the Games, we knew all about it already.”

“I _told_ you,” Oldsmith said, pointing at Melton. “He was in favour pretty much up until the last moment. It’s not like he said it on television.”

“Fine, fine!” Melton exclaimed, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “That will teach me to argue about Snow with his secretary. I’m still shocked that it happened so quickly, though. I’ve never heard of anyone else falling out of favour overnight like that.”

“Well, it _was_ an exceptional scenario,” Theodosius pointed out. “Who came up with the rule change, anyway? I think Snow realized it was the end as soon as it was announced. Even if it so happened that it wasn’t used, the people would still be aware that maybe the Games aren’t as absolute as they thought.”

Oldsmith shook his head. “It was a mistake, turning it into a show like that. Back before I was born, a bunch of overeager youths with not a drop of sense between them wouldn’t have been able to influence the Games. I told Snow many times, but he said it was too late to reverse the process.” 

“You know what I can’t believe?” Donna asked. “That we took the Games for granted. That nobody up there ever said that hey, maybe we should stop forcing children to murder each other on live television. Why was it that McCollum even thought it was a good idea?”

Oldsmith sighed. “The first Games, I could call justified. It was a good idea that went too far, because we got used to it.”

“No, we did not,” Theodosius said, his voice almost a hiss. “You heard the records during the trial the same as us. In the Capitol, the youth mostly didn’t care, with a few enthusiasts and a few rebels, mostly not organized. The average adult _preferred not to think about it_. They treated the Games like a fiction movie where the deaths were fake, even though they knew full well were not. Even at the highest level, the word ‘dead’ was barely ever used to talk about the Tributes!” That was true. They had only been referred to as the ‘losing Tributes’.

“Sounds like ‘getting used to it’ to me,” Oldsmith pointed out, “if everyone had coping strategies.”

Melton was rubbing his head with gloved hands. “You know, sometimes this all seems like a particularly bad nightmare. Thank you for your input, Mrs. Blues,” he said, and led Oldsmith away, clearly not wanting to be caught in the middle of the argument.

“I hate that man so much,” Theodosius muttered. “Justified? How were they justified? It’s illegal to take hostages, they all knew that! Not to mention the sheer immorality of it all!”

“I don’t think they cared,” Donna pointed out. “Like with the Peacekeeper field manual.”

Theodosius shook his head. “You know, I’ve been seriously thinking recently about this. I get that before the First Rebellion, they had competitions where people often died. But how did they cross that barrier between ‘competitors may die’ to ‘competitors _must_ die’?”

“People had been forced to participate, though, despite the veneer of written consent,” Donna pointed out. One of the myriad of reasons for the First Rebellion was the fact that political opponents had regularly been forced to compete in these fighting bouts and lethal obstacle courses. There hadn’t been televisions back then, and the proto-Games had been recorded on film and shown in movie theatres. “And children often participated, too.”

“Still, though, there’s a gap. Look at it. Before the First Rebellion, you would have the odd young teenager pressured into participating into something where there was a good chance of survival, if they were careful. Just two years later, children are forced into a situation where there will only be one survivor, no matter what.” Theodosius was running his hands through his hair over and over, cap on the brink of falling off his head.

Donna could still see a logic there. “I think it was because the executions were thrown into the mix. It became a weird combination of hostage-taking, potentially lethal entertainment, and an execution. And then it just continued to escalate from there. There was a gap, yes, but there was also a bridge over it.” 

“I can’t believe we’re still breathing,” Theodosius said, readjusting his cap and shaking his head. 

“I hope Oldsmith doesn’t try to continue the argument,” Donna worried. “Let’s prepare some rebuttals ahead of time.”

“Good idea,” he said. “What was the last thing he said?”

“The Capitolians being used to it.”

“Well, that’s an easy one,” Theodosius said grimly. “The NCIA mood reports, for starters.”

* * *

Donna sat down on her cot, pillow propped against the wall, and eagerly opened up the letter. The photo was weakly attached to the paper with a bit of glue; she removed it carefully and held it in her hands in front of her.

Her parents looked the same, while Dem and Alex had more grey hairs but otherwise also appeared unchanged since the last time. The kids were, as always, unrecognizable, with the exception of Donna, who didn’t look any different from a few months ago. The three youngest were especially hard to recognize, as they were still too young to visit. Aulus had clearly grown a lot, but then again, he was going to be turning eleven soon. Eleven! In just a year and a half, she would finally meet him. Laelia and Octavius were much harder to tell apart. With identical short haircuts and similarly dressed, Donna had to look at last year’s photo and see where everyone was sitting to be able to tell who was who. 

On Laelia’s lap was a gigantic blob of black fur that glared at the camera with amber eyes. Donna smiled, looking at Inky. In every photo of Laelia, she was holding him, and at the rate they were growing, she wasn’t sure who would end up bigger in the end.

Donna set the photograph on the table in the place of last year’s family photo, which she put on the edge of the table. When the guards came around next, they’d see that there were one too many photos, and take it away. Slowly, she read the letter. According to Dem, the kids were back in school and doing well, the cat considered it his solemn duty to lie motionlessly in a dark corridor and wait for unsuspecting uncles to step on him, and he was probably going to get a raise soon. _Finally, tell Coll his brood is also doing well and his photo is forthcoming. -Dem :))))))_

Seven more brief paragraphs followed. Alex was glad to be back in Twelve where evil cats did not lie arrogantly in the corridors and then complain when they were stepped on. Donna had perfected Dem’s lasagna recipe (just reading that made Donna hungry) and had successfully persuaded her boyfriend to read her new favourite book, _Doctor Zhivago_. Lars was busy with a history group project. Aulus rattled off a list of what he was doing in what class. Laelia wrote a funny story about how a teacher was mean to a girl in her class, and the girl shouted back (Donna shook her head, impressed at the audacity of the kids these days. When she had been that age, everyone had known not to openly disobey authority). Octavius was perusing pre-Cataclysm literature just like his eldest sister. Her parents were enjoying volunteering with an after-school program.

_That’s it for us. How are you doing? Are you reading anything interesting? -Mom and Dad_

Reaching for one of her pieces of paper, Donna began to plan what she would say tomorrow to the others and how she would respond to the letter. Everyone would definitely have a good laugh about the cat, and they would likewise be interested in Donna’s continued progress. She had written nothing about the academic side of things this week, but everyone would definitely overanalyze her choice of favourite book. She didn’t recall anyone mentioning that book, but maybe someone had read it. Of course, she’d need to tell Theodosius to expect a family photo with the next letter. Donna wondered who would be holding the cat.

Donna drafted a quick reply, making sure to write down her main points, before picking up a book and opening it to the page marked with a small piece of rolled-up toilet paper.

* * *

Quiet footsteps in the corridor. The orderly was handing out medications and taking back glasses. Donna closed the book of number puzzles, reluctant to stop solving the nonogram so close to the end, but there was very little time remaining until lights-out. She got ready for bed, almost glad for the oversized pads that had been given to her. At least they wouldn’t leak at night if she positioned herself the wrong way. She carefully rolled the used one into a cylinder and flushed it. If she threw it out the next day during cleaning, the guards might notice that the wrapper was missing, and ask questions, and in any case none of the women cared that you weren’t supposed to flush menstrual products.

Donna sat down on her cot and took off her shoes. The wrappers were carefully folded and hidden in the side of her socks, so she hid her feet under the blankets quickly. While they were a less discreet hiding place than her bra, she needed to take it off to go to bed, so she made sure to transfer the papers to her socks beforehand. As she pulled the covers over her, a guard looked into her cell. The footsteps faded away, and the light turned off. Donna continued planning what to say to the others next morning. Eventually, she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason the first guard was laughing is that she has read _Seven Men of Spandau_ (by Jack Fishman), and thus knows what would actually happen if someone were to write a book about all this.


	39. Changes

Donna listened, scarcely daring to believe her own ears, as the director from Six explained the new rules. For an hour after dinner, their cell doors would be unlocked, though the guards would put an end to it if it got “out of control”, whatever the definition of that was. She wouldn’t be able to talk to Theodosius, but at least it would be easier to hand out the cookies to everyone.

“Starting today at breakfast, so right now, you will be given four newspapers. Banned information will be blacked out, and you will return them before lights-out.”

News from outside. Donna couldn’t help herself, she grinned maniacally. Even if half the pages were blacked out, that would still be something. The women nearly tripped over each other queueing up for their breakfast.

“This is a sign,” Grass whispered. Donna paid no attention to her, waiting eagerly for the line to move faster. When she finally reached the front, she ended up face-to-face with the cart that the guards normally brought library books in on. Now, though, there were four boxes on the top shelf. A guard took a newspaper from each one and handed them to Donna, who shoved them under her arm to leave her hands free for the tray. The small glimpse of the papers she got showed that their front pages were covered with black marker, and there was a large number ‘9’ on all of them. There would be no using of pieces of newspaper for clandestine notes, then.

Not hanging back to talk to the others, Donna practically ran to her cell, tossed the papers onto her cot, picked up the top one, and began to read it and eat breakfast at the same time. The name of the newspaper was completely unfamiliar. She glanced at the three others on her cot, and noticed the same thing there. None of them had been around before. Donna turned back to her eggs, vegetables, tea, and _The World_. Several articles were completely blacked out, but there was still so much, her eyes darted around the pages, wanting to take everything in at once. Just the headlines fought for her attention so viciously, she didn’t know what to focus on.

An official meeting between representatives of Panem, China, Korea, Japan, and Vladivostok to discuss matters of trade. Portugal’s civil war was winding down. Terrorists had blown up a religious centre in Germany, a moderate left-wing party had won the federal elections in Yemen, and Perth was suffering from a record-breaking heatwave. Donna realized she had no idea what any of this meant. She hadn’t even known there was a civil war in Portugal, though it wasn’t too hard to imagine, as Europe was a hotbed of endless wars. And what even _was_ Perth? Fortunately, the article explained that it was a city-state in southwestern Australia.

Donna shoveled breakfast into her mouth as fast as possible, eager to get some time to read before going outside. After tidying up her cell in record time, she sat down on her cot, looking through the headlines of the other three newspapers as well. They were very different. While _The World_ seemed to be focused mainly on international news, _The Daily Observer_ was focused on Panem and especially the Districts, _The Capitol Daily_ was mostly about the Capitol, and _The Star_ was, once again, mostly focused on Panem. The _Observer_ and the _Star_ didn’t get along, that much was clear from just the headlines. The population of Twelve had surpassed pre-bombing levels due to a steady trickle of immigration, and the people who had lived there before were expressing concern about the disappearance of their culture, that much was clear. The _Star_ agreed with them, while the _Observer_ took a more moderate stance, pointing out that, at the end of the day, everyone who lived in Twelve identified themselves with it. Donna wondered what Alex thought of all that. Maybe she could ask him.

A local politician had made calls for self-sufficiency. While the Capitol newspaper had talked about him in relatively positive terms, the two national papers had only given him a little bit of space, and the _World_ had an entire op-ed about the futility of self-sufficiency. How was she supposed to tell which one was right? While Donna agreed in general that self-sufficiency was an illusion, was she supposed to think that this person was insignificant, or be worried enough to want to publish an entire article against it?

Donna realized that all of the newspapers were dated in the international style. According to them, it was March 3, 2361. That would take some time getting used to, though having the day and month around was very welcome. She’d never have to worry about misdating one of her diary entries again.

“Shame they didn’t give us enough time to read the papers,” Donna complained to nobody in particular as they headed outside, newspapers in her jacket pocket.

“You’ll have plenty of that,” one of the guards commented sardonically. She was right, of course, but Donna just wanted to stay in her cell and continue reading, if only for a little while.

Outside, Theodosius practically ran towards her. “Can you believe it?” he asked. Noticing the newspapers sticking out of her pocket he added, “That’s smart. I should have done that.” Donna took out one of the papers and gave it to him.

“We can share,” she said.

Opening the paper, Theodosius muttered an absent thank-you, focused more on who had said what in Congress. The blacked-out article on the other side of it made it hard to read, but it was possible.

Behind her, Grass was complaining to Drape and Mitman. “The only good part about that Capitol newspaper is the crossword,” she said. “It’s overly sensationalized.” Donna had only flipped through it, so she couldn’t agree or disagree. All headlines sounded slightly sensationalized to her.

“Still,” Drape said, “it’s nice to be able to read about normal things. Maybe I’ll finally be able to speak to my family on the same level as them.” 

“That’s true,” Donna said to Theodosius. “They’re gonna be so shocked when we talk about current events in the official mail!”

Theodosius looked at the paper. “You think they’re keeping up with all this political stuff?” he asked, trying to read about what some Congressperson had said. Half the text was blacked out.

“I’m sure Lars is,” Donna pointed out. “Also, you should put that paper down before you collide with a tree.” Not noticing that there was a turn in the path, he was still walking in a straight line.

Sheepishly, Theodosius folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. “I guess we can always rake really fast, and then read for a while.”

As they walked around the path, they discussed the news. A few of the others weren’t walking at all, preferring to sit on benches and read, but Theodosius wasn’t going to cut short his walks for anything. They kept on walking at their usual speed, boots squelching in the mud. The guard was right, after all, it’s not like they wouldn’t have the time to read their newspapers.

“It’s Wolf’s birthday today,” Theodosius said suddenly. He leaned down to her and spoke very quietly. “Someone sent him a small bottle of whiskey yesterday through the orderly, I managed to get a glimpse.” Yesterday had been their checkups. “He drank the entire thing in one gulp and didn’t bat an eye.” He shook his head in amazement.

Donna looked around the yard. “Is he doing the mopping today?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Lowering her voice to a similarly low whisper, she said, “When he’s done, I’ll have to give him one of the cookies. I’ll give you one, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. “How are you even keeping your network going?” 

Donna shrugged, unwilling to be open about it. At this point, it was mostly maintaining itself. Before leaving, the sympathetic guards got someone else to step in, as they were all convinced that they were her only line to the outside world. Donna didn’t even feel stressed when she didn’t see one of her guards around anymore.

Fortunately, Theodosius got the hint and dropped the topic.

* * *

As Donna upended the bucket of leaves onto the compost pile, a guard collided with her.

“Sorry,” Donna said, turning around to face her and doffing her cap. It was an effort to keep her face neutral when she saw who the guard was, and an even greater effort to not reach for her pocket immediately.

“It’s nothing,” the guard said, and walked on. Donna returned to Theodosius, wishing there was a place she could curl up in privacy and read the note. She touched her pocket with her elbow, hearing the slight crinkle of paper. On her way, she paused to wish Wolf a happy birthday and slipped a cookie into his pocket. It wasn’t much of a birthday present, the thirty or so cookies in her pocket didn’t even make it bulge, but hopefully he’d like it.

The older man gave her a small smile. “Thank you,” he said, glancing at her pocket. “Five down, ten to go.”

For him it was ten, for her - twenty, and for a few of them - zero. As Donna resumed walking, she realized she was glaring at Mitman and Novik, who were pruning a tree close by. They had less than a year left in here. Their next birthday would be their last behind bars. Donna sped up, trying to force the thoughts out of her head.

“I’m back,” she told Theodosius, who was raking last year’s leaves from the paths between the vegetable beds with one hand while holding a newspaper with the other.

“What did Wolf say to you?” he asked as she picked up her rake and began to work close by. “Seemed too short for a normal conversation with him.” Wolf tended to tell stories from his time as a Peacekeeper any chance he got.

“Thanked me,” she replied, raking half-rotten leaves into a small pile. “Said he’s a third of the way through, birthday-wise.”

Leaning on his rake, Theodosius stared into nothingness. “Five years _is_ a long time,” he said. “Well, not five years yet, but soon.”

“Twenty percent of birthdays over and done with. Never thought I’d look forward to getting old.” Donna stopped raking as well. “But are we really getting old, though?” she asked with a frown. “Not in the typical sense. We’re not changing. We’re not growing. We’re just existing.” Dr. Chu had asked Donna what she thought were the main differences between herself four years ago and herself now, and that had been the main takeaway from the conversation.

“Doesn’t seem very fair, does it?” Theodosius asked. “I get the aches and pains, but none of the wisdom or experience.” 

Moving closer to Theodosius, Donna tried to get a glimpse of the newspaper. “Anything else interesting?” she asked.

“They’re thinking of getting rid of the death penalty.”

That was completely unfair. “Wait, so just because someone managed to hide for long enough they get to live?” Donna asked, gently taking the newspaper from Theodosius. She carefully read the article. “Wait, no, they’re considering keeping it only for crimes against humanity. And they say this isn’t revenge.” She handed back the newspaper, feeling extremely disappointed. 

“They’re also planning to not execute minors,” Theodosius pointed out.

“At least there’s that.” Now that was a good idea. “It’s still a singling-out, though. Nobody will ever live calmly, afraid that at any moment, they could be arrested and executed.” Donna paused. “Actually, that does sound good. Only fair, after all.”

Theodosius took the newspaper back from her and sat down under a tree. Donna joined him. The ground was cold and unpleasantly damp. “I agree,” he said. “Though I must say, it strikes me as unfair that a serial killer won’t have to worry about execution, but a bureaucrat who never as much as insulted anyone will.“

“Serial killers didn’t keep the Hunger Games going,” Donna pointed out. “There’s crazy people everywhere.”

Sighing, Theodosius turned the page. “You’re right,” he said. “Snow didn’t prosper on the support of criminal elements or wide-eyed fanatics, but people like us, who dedicated all of our hard work to him.”

“Dr. Chu said something similar to me.” Donna confessed, shifting on the uncomfortable ground. “I had known better and still gone ahead and done it, which makes me more blameworthy than any of the others here who go on and on about how it’s growing up in the regime that made them the way they were.”

Theodosius met her gaze, looking at her with sadness. “I don’t even understand what Dr. Chu wants from us.”

“A groundbreaking paper, obviously,” Donna joked. “We’ll be the most famous case study ever.”

“I thought that’s the eyeless child,” Theodosius said, playing along. 

“Second most famous, then.” Donna turned serious. “Does she still talk to you like she’s all of the prosecutors put together?”

Looking down at the ground, Theodosius nodded. “Why is she so insistent?” he asked irritably. “I’m sick of the way she keeps on bringing up killings I first heard about during the trial. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade her for anything, but I just can’t shake the feeling that she doesn’t believe a word I say.”

“I wonder what she thinks about the death penalty,” Donna mused.

* * *

Propping a book on her knees, Donna took out the piece of paper, which turned out to be not a note from Dem or Livia, but an article cut out of a newspaper. Was this one of the ones which had been blacked out in the newspapers themselves? Donna quickly read the short article, disappointment at not receiving the expected note fading away at the magnitude of the news lying on her knees. The article was about the accidental unmasking of a collaborator in Five, and his subsequent arrest.

Apparently, his records had been among those destroyed during the fighting, so Dylan Powers had found it easy as anything to move to a different city (he had stayed in Five!) and start anew. Some random person from his hometown who was visiting family had identified Powers outside a grocery store, resulting in his arrest. He was now awaiting trial in Five for being a high-ranked member of the District government, accused of, among other things, of approving the lists of people the Peacekeepers were planning to execute. Powers’ guards were having a hard time protecting him from angry locals.

Donna shuddered as she read the details of his arrest. She felt very lucky to have been captured by soldiers who had been warned to stay professional. Powers had been viciously beaten by several angry people who had lost family under the regime, and only the intervention of the police had saved his life.

Taking the opportunity, Donna put the article back in her pocket, got up, and pushed open her door. Usually the door locked automatically when closed, but now the guards would have to deliberately go through and lock all the doors. Donna walked over to Grass’ cell and slipped inside. 

It was a bit strange to be inside someone else’s cell. The first thing Donna noticed was that it smelled slightly different. The photographs on the walls were also different, as were the books on the table, and the box of laundry was in a different place under the cot, but otherwise, it looked the same. Donna realized she was staring at Grass’ jacket and leaned out the door. Both of the wardens were pacing around the corridor, trying to keep an eye on everyone. As soon as both weren’t looking, Donna stepped back and stuffed the article and a handful of cookies under Grass’ pillow.

“Thank you very much,” Grass said quietly. 

She was sitting at her table and writing a letter. Noticing that, Donna felt awkward again, this time for intruding. “Is this a bad time?” she asked, edging towards the door.

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” Grass insisted, putting down her pen and glancing around the cell. “Did you want to ask me something?”

“Yes,” Donna said, leaning against the door frame. “I just couldn’t catch you alone today, and I wanted to ask you what you think of this sudden rule change.”

Grass tapped her chin. “I’ve been doing some thinking about that. It’s completely long overdue. We were never sentenced to solitary confinement, after all. It does seem rather strange, though, that they swung so far in the other direction. We could be talking about absolutely anything right now, and they’d never know.”

“Clearly they’re not intending for the silence rule to be followed, if they’re not at the very least adding more wardens to the cell block,” Donna pointed out. At all times, there were two wardens, always from different Districts, in the cell block itself, as well as two at the main entrance and one - in the chief warden’s office, where they were supposed to monitor the cameras that showed if someone was approaching the prison. In reality, the office was more of a lounge for off-duty guards and wardens where they spent their time playing board games.

“True,” Grass said, leaning forward in her chair with a loud creak, “but I was thinking about something else. They’re always worried about alleged plots to break us out, but now they’re letting us talk freely one-on-one?”

“You’re saying they’ve got the cells bugged?” Donna asked, trying to fend off a rising panic. If that was true, that meant that she, and ten separate guards, could be severely punished at any moment.

Fortunately, Grass shook her head. “If that was so, half the guards would have been fired by now. I think they’re trying to lull us into a false sense of security.”

“But for what point?” Donna asked. “Also, approaching.” She waved at the warden, a tall woman from Three, who shot her a suspicious look and kept walking. Once she was safely past, Donna nodded to Grass.

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

“I suppose we will,” Donna said. “And hand those out, please,” she added in a whisper before leaving the cell and heading towards Kim, who was trying to persuade Drape to read the book she was holding. Next, she went all the way down the corridor to where the other Smith was arguing with Cast. Cookies handed out, Donna went back to her cell and closed the door behind her.

* * *

“This is blatant targeting!” Grass complained the next morning. “It says a lot about their priorities that a grey bureaucrat is a bigger threat to them than a serial killer.”

The article about the death penalty had made its rounds, and the response was predictable. 

“Surely they won’t go that far,” Vartha pointed out. He, Donna, and Theodosius were carrying a sack of fertilizer to the future potato patch. Li was carrying a second one. “After all, they’re becoming less and less harsh with their sentences. Even the Districts are stopping the executions.”

“It still looks strange, doesn’t it?” Donna pointed out. “Even the littlest cog in the machine will theoretically be in danger of execution, and only them.”

Shifting the sack from one shoulder to another, Li wondered out loud if this was because of everyone who had fled.

“I don’t think they’d have such a huge debate because of just Stonesmith,” Donna said.

“No, not just her,” Li elaborated. “Like with that story about Powers. I was talking to Grass-” when had he managed to do that? “-and she said that they’re going to use this as a stick to prevent anyone from opening up about the past, so that they can all pretend it never happened. Personally, I think she’s undervaluing the foreign element. If the law gets passed, it will be interesting to see how it affects relations with countries where so-called Games criminals are suspected to be.”

“Probably not by much?” Vartha said hesitantly, visibly straining under the weight. “I don’t know much about politics, but it doesn’t seem like anything will change for them in that situation. They’re in danger now, and will remain in danger.”

“But what about the targeted approach?” Li pointed out. “If the world knows that we, and only we, are in danger of the noose, that says a lot about Paylor’s priorities.”

They reached the patch and tossed down the bags, sighing in relief. Donna stretched her back, glad to be rid of the weight. “It’s nowhere near decided, though,” she said. “I think it’s a little bit early to speculate about anything other than motivations.” 

“That’s an excellent point,” Li said. “What sort of motivations would this Congressperson have in calling for the abolition of the death penalty?”

“Doesn’t it literally say that in the article?” Theodosius asked as he tore open one of the bags. “He thinks that the state shouldn’t have power over life and death of the citizens, and cites his own experiences in Ten, especially incidents when the wrong person was punished for an actual crime.” 

“I read a book about that a while back,” Donna said. “That was one of the main arguments against. Even in the best judicial system the innocent are sometimes punished, so the idea is that someone sentenced to prison can be freed, but execution is irreversible.”

Theodosius straightened up, cleaning off his hands on his jacket. “Now, don’t take it the wrong way, I am most definitely not complaining about the hospitality the Districts have given us, but is it really worth it?”

“Yes,” said Li.

Theodosius looked at him with a sad smile. “I suppose it is, in the end. Now, could you please scatter the fertilizer?”

“Of course.” Li effortlessly heaved the sack onto his shoulders and began to walk up and down the patch. The other three stood by.

“I should not have said that,” Theodosius whispered, running a hand through his hair. Donna and Vartha nodded. That was another point - was it really worth it to keep someone locked up for decades when they would die in prison anyway, especially when there was no possibility of parole. As far as Donna could tell, the sole point of that punishment was to make sure that an innocent person could have their conviction overturned and be released, which just tied into the point of whether the risk of executing an innocent person was acceptable.

Continuing that train of thought was too painful. Donna looked around the yard instead, until Vartha’s voice brought her back to reality. “My lawyer says none of us will be here in five years,” he said.

“My lawyer says there hasn’t been any movement on that front,” Donna pointed out. “I don’t want to be optimistic and then have my hopes be shattered.”

“No, really, she says they’re seriously considering reducing sentences for good behaviour,” Vartha insisted. 

Theodosius chuckled bitterly. “You think they’ll release _us_?” he asked. “Thirteen’s director will have a coronary. The outer Districts will rise up all over again.”

“Maybe they’ll reduce Yark’s sentence,” Donna said. “I’m sure there are elements in society who disapprove of having someone in a borderline coma practically have the noose around her neck.” Feeling oddly warm, she unzipped her jacket a quarter of the way.

“I hope they do,” Li said, walking up to them. “And then I’ll win all the goodies.” Nobody else had agreed with Li on what Yark’s fate would be, which didn’t stop him from being utterly convinced that he was right. He shook out the sack and picked up the other one. Donna picked up the empty sack, wondering if it was possible to tear off chunks of the thick paper without someone noticing.

“I heard that Wreath is having some success convincing the military establishment,” Vartha continued.

“The military establishment isn’t deciding what to do with us,” Donna said irritably. Vartha’s optimism made her own feel foolish. Still, though, if Wreath was having some success, that was something. “It’s a step in the right direction, at least,” she conceded. “I should tell my lawyer to reach out to him.”

“Same,” Theodosius said. “Mine’s still trying to reverse the confiscation of my bank accounts. I should tell her to focus on the big picture.”

Vartha agreed. “We need to present a united front,” he said.

Donna tried not to laugh, thinking about the so-called “united front” she had broken at the trial together with Theodosius. 

“Don’t trust them with that,” Li said, turning around. “They’ll break it the first second they can.”

Theodosius tried to assume an impressive posture and failed. “As if the others were any less self-serving, in the end,” he said. “As if Dovek didn’t also try to shift the blame onto everyone else.”

“Oh, don’t amuse my slippers, you were the ones who broke it in the first place!”

“And?” Donna asked challengingly. “All we did was what we thought was right. And Ledge, Blatt, Grass - they also were out for just themselves.” Struck with a sudden idea, she went ahead despite knowing how much it would hurt Li. “We weren’t some sort of gang of professional criminals, after all, or do you agree with the prosecution there? They were the ones who were the most shocked when the united front turned out to be a sham.”

Li looked like he had been punched in the face unexpectedly. He turned around and continued scattering the fertilizer. When he was done, he picked up the empty sacks and walked off without saying anything. Donna, Theodosius, and Vartha picked up their rakes and began to even out the soil.

“That was a fair point,” Vartha said, “even though I disagree with your premise. At my trial, everyone was falling over themselves trying to cooperate with the prosecution, so obviously there was no solidarity to speak of, but you could have just stood firm and denied everything. Especially when it seemed likely they’d kill you all outright.”

“Stood firm?” Donna asked. “Until the indictment was delivered, I thought they’d let me go like all the other engineers. How was I supposed to stand firm when confronted with those accusations?” She was fairly certain that the only engineer besides her who had actually been prosecuted was Nitza, whose sentence was ten years shorter than hers.

“And, in any case, the charges against us were substantiated,” Theodosius added. 

Vartha took offense to that, and proceeded to rehash the argument about responsibility for the hundredth time.

* * *

Donna wrote a small note to Livia and Dancer. _Could you please keep an eye out on the debate on the death penalty? You might hear something that’s not in the newspapers._ She listened for the sound of bootsteps. Nothing. She put the scrap of paper on the blanket and got up to drink some water. Turning around, Donna realized the paper was missing.

Lunging towards the cot, she ran her hands over the blanket, trying to figure out where it could have gone. Had it fallen under her bed? She bent down to check. Nothing. Nearly hyperventilating, Donna shook out the blankets and looked through the books and papers on her table. Surely it couldn’t have ended up there, but where, then, was it? Donna bit back tears as she glanced around the cell. Where was that stupid piece of paper? 

Donna went through her pockets. Had she put it there without thinking? She practically performed a full body search of herself as she searched for the missing paper. Breath catching in her chest, Donna stood in the middle of the cell, willing herself not to break down completely. She needed to find the note, or the guards would find it first. How was this even possible? Her cell wasn’t big enough to lose something in!

Despairing, Donna sat down on her cot, and saw the note lying right by her foot. She then immediately burst into tears.

What was wrong with her? Donna picked up the scrap of paper from the ground, vision blurry from the tears. She hid it in her sock and sat back against the wall, wishing she could lie down but not wanting to have a guard shout at her to get back up. Taking slow, deep breaths, Donna willed herself to calm down. In - out, in - out. Wow, she was _really_ fragile. She stood up and paced for a while, breathing deeply.

Feeling slightly less like she was going to shatter into a million pieces at any moment, Donna sat down and picked up a book. She had decided to read _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ solely because the title had grabbed her attention, and wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea. Donna wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it was probably not a strange, fantastical tale of an isolated village that jumped through time in perplexing ways. The language was quite opaque, and while the most confusing terms were footnoted, there was still plenty that she found herself scratching her head at. 

Only having a little bit left, Donna dug into the book eagerly, wanting to see how it all ended. Half a chapter later, Donna was feeling much better, despite the way that the book drained her. She wasn’t sure if she was missing something or if the book was supposed to be so confusing. The final sentence, though, hit her like a punch to the chest. Donna found herself crying all over again as she read the last few words, over and over. Then, she flipped back to the first page and began to reread the book all over again, this time with a very different perspective on the isolated town of Macondo and its strange inhabitants.

* * *

Li ended up not talking to her for a week, until Donna gave him a large bun her daughter had had smuggled in.

“Are you sure it hasn’t gone bad yet?” he joked.

“The orderly literally took it out of a bag lined with ice packs.”

Patting his pocket, Li smiled. “I can feel that it’s still cold. How’s that book you were reading?”

“Oh, I finished it days ago.”

“Would you recommend it?”

“No,” Donna said, searching for a good way to phrase it. “I don’t think you’ll like the opaque prose.”

Li nodded. “That’s a shame. Thank you for the bun, by the way,” he said in a whisper. He walked off towards a guard, and the two went inside the prison. Alleged bathroom breaks were an excellent time to consume something forbidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last sentence of _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ is “Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, _because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth_.” You can imagine how Donna interprets that last part.


	40. No Regret

“Hello,” Donna said to Katz and Hope, who walked into her cell. Katz was glancing back into the corridor. Hope looked outside as well. Donna stood up from her cot and leaned against the wall, half-sitting on the cold radiator. She wondered what the two women had for her - food or information.

“What are you so worried about?” Hope asked Katz irritably. “She’s asleep. The other one’s off video calling her husband.” One of the wardens constantly snuck away to the staircase to talk to her family. When combined with the tendency of several of the others to fall asleep even relatively early in the evening, this predilection for video calls meant a total lack of supervision from time to time as the warden waited for her partner to fall asleep, and simply got up and left for the next few hours. 

It was strange that they knew so much about the people who guarded them, but not their names. 

“What is it?” Donna asked her fellow inmates.

In response, Hope took a flask out from under her shirt. “Orderly comes around most evenings,” she explained, noticing Donna’s bafflement. Hope was indeed visited by the orderly every evening, who helped her out with the physiotherapy she did for her bad hip. “I just hand it back to her.” That solved the mystery of where the alcohol was coming from. None had ever been offered to Donna, as she had never asked for any. Until now, apparently.

“But why?” Donna asked, taking the flask and unscrewing it. It was full, but then again, it was quite small. She sniffed its contents cautiously, recoiling at the smell. She had never drunk more than a few sips of wine before. Hesitantly, she took a large sip, wincing at the burning bitterness. Beyond that, she thought she could detect a fruity taste.

“Well, you’re always giving us cookies and whatnot, so I thought I’d thank you,” Hope said. Donna took another gulp, trying not to gag at the taste. And this was the stuff all the former Peacekeepers claimed to have drunk like water?

“Tastes terrible.”

Hope shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s not the best sort,” she conceded. “I remember when I was in Twelve, though, now that was some serious garbage they sold us under the guise of vodka. I was afraid I’d go blind.”

It was hard to imagine that anything could be more disgusting than whatever it was she was drinking. The burning sensation wouldn’t leave her mouth, and it was so horrifically bitter, Donna was afraid she’d throw up from the taste.

“Wasn’t much better in Nine,” Katz said, launching into one of her favourite stories. “I remember how back when I was on my first tour, we had a new lieutenant arrive. He tried some of the booze a local gave him, and proceeded to arrest him for attempted murder of a Peacekeeper!”

“If it tasted this bad,” Donna said, “I don’t blame him.” She took another sip and wanted to spit it out, but managed to choke it down. It wouldn’t have done to refuse a gift, and plus, Donna had to admit she was a little bit curious.

“Well, he was a bit paranoid,” Katz explained.

Hope butted in. “A bit? Wasn’t this the one who banned you all from hiring prostitutes because he was afraid they were going to stab you in your sleep?”

Forgetting all about Donna, the two former Peacekeepers started trying to outdo each other in who had the crazier story to tell about middle-of-nowhere life in the outer Districts. While they did the same at work all the time, the relative privacy of a cell with the door closed was much easier. Donna realized the flask was now empty. Eager to get the taste out of her mouth, she got up and opened the tap to fill it with water.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Hope asked.

“It’s empty,” Donna explained, holding it upside down.

Hope and Katz looked utterly horrified. “You drank the entire thing?” Hope whispered. 

Too late, Donna realized that comparing herself to the former Peacekeepers was a terrible idea. “There wasn’t that much in it,” she said defensively as she filled the flask with tap water and sat down on her cot, drinking the water to get rid of the terrible taste in her mouth. 

Katz rubbed at her face with one hand. “But you said you don’t drink!”

“My husband doesn’t. I just never had the chance to.”

Hope was glancing around the cell as if trying to find a way out. “Well, there were only, what, three shots’ worth in there?” she asked Katz defensively. “And she’s not _that_ small.”

Katz sighed. “Let’s hope that the guards don’t try to talk to her.”

The way they were talking to her like she wasn’t there was so strange, Donna laughed at the absurdity. “I’m fine,” she said. “At least for now,” she amended, remembering the get-togethers she had attended, the sort where spouses had been most definitely not invited and alcohol had flowed like a river. The people who had insisted the loudest that they were sober had tended to be the most drunk.

“Just keep on drinking the water,” Hope said. “I remember once, after a special operation in Eleven-”

Donna listened to the story, slowly sipping the water and laughing quietly at the funny moments, even though there was nothing funny about mass executions. Soon, she found herself unable to stop laughing, though she was able to keep the volume down to almost zero. Her face felt hot. “Is my face red?” she asked the two, interrupting Hope’s rant about why Thread had been the most counterproductive Head she had ever served under.

“Yes,” Katz said, and Hope added, “I’d have thought you were too dark to turn red like that. You look like a traffic light.”

Rubbing at her face, Donna fought to stop herself from laughing out loud. Wow, she was _really_ drunk. Hopefully the administration wouldn’t find out. At least Dr. Chu had last visited only a few days ago, so it was unlikely she’d show up that evening. Donna leaned back against the wall, feeling drained all of a sudden. “Are you alright?” Katz asked.

“Just tired.”

“You really don’t look too good.”

Donna tried to stand up and toppled over. Katz and Hope rushed forward to pull her to her feet, but she broke free of their hold and managed to crawl to the toilet in time to throw up. She felt a little bit better, but not much. 

“Look, if she’s throwing up, she’s got alcohol poisoning,” Katz said. 

Pushing herself to a sitting position, Donna rushed to reassure her. “I’ll tell them I have no idea who gave it to me,” she said, mentally kicking herself for being so stupid. “Don’t worry.”

“She’s talking straight, at least there’s that,” Hope sighed. “Can you stand?”

Donna pushed herself to her feet. For a second she managed to remain steady, but then had to lean against the wall. Hope stepped towards her to hold her upright. “Why don’t you lie down,” she said. Obediently, Donna flopped down on her cot. She tried to sit up to take off her shoes, but it was as if gravity had suddenly intensified. Donna tried over and over to sit up, and flopped back every time. Hope maneuvered her around so that she leaned against the wall. Donna took off her shoes and put them neatly under her cot.

“Strange,” she said. “I can’t even sit up, but I can still put my shoes away neatly.”

“That’s nice,” Hope said. “Now, you need to lie down on your left side. Do you think you can do that without turning over?”

Moving herself up against the wall, Donna lay down in the correct position. “I know, it’s important,” she said. “So I don’t choke to death on my vomit in the middle of the night.”

“Exactly,” said Katz. “We’re going to leave now. We won’t tell anyone about this.” That was doubtful. “If you’re really feeling bad, just press the button. Worst-case scenario, they toss you into total solitary for a week.”

Donna nodded. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I didn’t want to make it hard for you. Really.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” The two left, shutting the door behind them.

She closed her eyes, but when she did, everything felt like it was floating, including her. With her eyes open, though, Donna felt fine. She tried to sit up and read, but ended up throwing up again. Donna wiped the rim of the toilet clean, rinsed out her mouth, and flopped back into bed. Reluctantly, she changed for bed, and then carefully positioned herself so that when she tried to roll over to her back, the wall stopped her. 

Trying to fall asleep proved impossible for some reason. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to help people sleep? Donna brainstormed what to write in her diary entry for today. She realized that chunks of the evening were already missing from her memory. Would there be more missing tomorrow? Donna hoped she wouldn’t feel too bad, otherwise she could draw suspicion. The warden came around to lock the doors. Eventually, Donna fell asleep.

* * *

Donna woke up, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. Not only did she feel like someone was hitting her over the head with an icepick, but she was sore all over for some reason, and the inside of her mouth was dry and tasted horrible. She felt feverish, as if she had the flu. She fell back asleep, but not for long. Her door burst open, and a warden was shouting at her to get up.

“Female Nine, wake up!” she said. “Is something wrong?”

Donna didn’t bother trying. She curled up tighter, wishing the screaming would stop.

“Hey, I think she might be sick.”

“Sick? With what?” Boots approached her. “Oh crap, the directors are going to murder each other. Is it me or does it smell like alcohol?”

“Huh, it does! I’ll go alert the Chief.” One pair of boots ran off.

“Look at me!” snapped the second guard. Reluctantly, Donna opened her eyes and reached up to rub at her head. “Where did you get the alcohol from?”

“I don’t know,” Donna muttered. “Look, can you leave for a minute? I need to use the toilet.” Slowly, she pushed herself to a sitting position, looking up at the guard who was bending down to speak to her. Her vision was weird, and her head was spinning on top of everything else.

“I am not letting my eyes off you for a single second,” the guard said in a tone that clearly showed she was as happy about that as Donna herself.

Whatever. Donna felt too terrible to feel embarrassed on top of it, and it’s not like it was any worse than back during the trial. As she dragged herself back to her cot and flopped down, too exhausted to stand for another second, the guard looked like she was reconsidering every decision she had ever made in her life.

To cover up her awkwardness, the guard began to interrogate her inexpertly. “No, really, where did you get it from?”

“Nobody,” Donna said, pulling the blankets up over herself. Her head felt like it was going to explode.

“What do you mean, nobody?”

“Nobody. Will you shut up? I feel bad enough without you screaming in my ear.”

At that moment, several others walked in, slamming the door shut behind them. Reluctantly, Donna opened her eyes. Crammed into her cell were two guards, a warden, and the director from One, who was the Chair this week. “And how am I supposed to interpret this?” he asked nobody in particular. Nobody replied.

“Uh, Director, she says that nobody gave it to her,” the guard hesitantly said.

The director sat down on her chair. “What do you mean, nobody?” he asked. “Female Nine is no conjurer, she couldn’t have just gotten alcohol out of thin air! Clearly _someone_ gave it to her. She’s just not talking.” His voice was light, but Donna could tell the threat that lurked underneath.

“I don’t remember,” she muttered, sitting up and leaning against the wall.

The director sighed audibly. “I should have expected that.”

“She looks pretty bad,” the warden pointed out.

“I feel pretty bad,” Donna said sadly.

“I can’t believe there’s an entire smuggling ring going on in here,” the director said. 

“If you don’t tell us the source, you will feel much worse,” said the guard who had run to get the director.

“We’re not having any of that,” the director said before Donna could protest. “However, since you seem to like contraband so much, you _will_ eat only nutrient powder and water for the next while. The duration of the punishment depends.”

“Can I have some painkillers, at least?” The director nodded, and the guard was off once again, this time - to fetch the orderly.

Rising to his feet, the director stepped in the direction of the door. “Clearly we’re not getting anything out of her today,” he said. “Warden Mitu, search the cell, report if you find anything.” With those parting words, he left. Donna groaned and climbed to her feet. She undressed slowly, making sure that the paper in her sock wasn’t seen. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and when she stood up, she felt dizzy. 

“I can’t stand,” she complained, leaning against the wall. “My head is spinning.”

“Then sit down!”

The two women poked through her clothes only perfunctorily, instead focusing on potential larger hiding spots. Predictably, they found nothing. Donna got dressed and fell into bed, not caring that the blankets were all on the floor.

The two guards left, and the orderly walked in, holding her tray. As threatened, it contained an empty cup and a nutrient bar. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Terrible. I never knew hungovers were that bad.”

“Well, you aren’t exactly young,” the orderly pointed out. “You’ll be still feeling sick tomorrow.”

Donna was about to protest that she was very much young before she remembered that outside, she would be considered middle-aged. “Do you have painkillers?” she asked instead. The orderly filled up the cup with water and offered it to her, along with a small pill. Donna took it gratefully, though swallowing anything made her feel ill. She lay back down, not feeling any better. Then, she fell back asleep, not bothering to pick up the blankets from the floor.

When she woke up, she felt a little bit better, though she still had the worst headache of her life. Moving still hurt, though not as much as in the morning. And the strangest thing of all was that her cell was neat, Peacekeeper-neat in fact. She was covered with blankets and her dirty clothes were carefully folded in her box. Even her papers were carefully lined up on her table instead of scattered everywhere. Had one of the women come in to clean up? Donna looked around some more, and noticed that her tray was still on the table. She reached out a hand that felt like there was a huge weight attached to it, and took one of the three bars that were on the tray. Dinner must have already happened.

Donna nibbled it slowly, lying down. How did Holder eat this voluntarily? It tasted like utterly nothing, and didn’t fill her up at all. The bar melted on her tongue, not even giving her the satisfaction of eating. She ate the other two as well, not feeling any different afterwards. Then, she fell back asleep, and only woke up the next morning, feeling slightly better. While she still had a killer headache and felt sore, especially around her upper back region, it wasn't as bad as the previous day. She scribbled her notes for the past two days. Livia would die laughing. Then, she fell back into bed and fell asleep all over again, suddenly feeling too exhausted to move, and woke up to the sound of the door closing.

“Hey,” she said weakly, but the door was already slamming shut. Donna sat up and looked at the tray. Water, two energy bars, and painkillers. Did that mean it was lunch? She drank some of the water, and realized she was extremely thirsty. She stood up on weak legs and went to get some more, practically falling back onto the cot. The energy bars were just as tasteless as on the previous day, and Donna kicked herself mentally as she ate. How could she have been so stupid? Now they’d probably be subject to daily searches all over again. 

For the rest of the day, she lay around doing nothing, as reading made her head hurt even worse, standing up only to drink some water or use the toilet. She felt like she had a bad cold.That evening, she fell asleep before dinner, and woke up feeling more or less decent, though she still had a headache. She went about her usual morning routine with reluctance, looking forward to more painkillers, as her head still felt like it had been hit with an icepick.

In the breakfast queue, everyone looked at her strangely. “Good morning,” Hope said. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Do the nutrient bars taste alright?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good,” Blatt cut in, “because that’s all you’ll be eating for the next two weeks.”

Donna shrugged. “If Holder can do it, so can I.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” Hope said. Donna didn’t add that just the smell of food coming from the cart made her feel slightly ill, though the prospect of no tea for two weeks was a tough one. 

In her cell, Donna flipped through the newspapers as she ate the nutrient bar. She knew full well, though, that the main topic of discussion in the prison would not be debates on the death penalty or anything of that sort. Reluctantly, she cleaned her cell and dragged herself outside, wishing she was in bed sleeping instead.

“Are you feeling better?” was the first thing that Theodosius asked her. So did the other men. So did the male guards. 

“Yes, I am,” she replied to everyone, wishing she could sink through the ground and disappear. Koy was the last, departing after making a cryptic statement about the ghost of Ramon Mercader.

“No, really,” Theodosius insisted as they set off down the path, chilly air doing a good job of waking Donna up. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. It’s like I have a cold.” A part of her wished that she had worn her jacket, but another part craved the coldness of the breeze.

Theodosius scuffed the ground with his foot, nearly tripping. “So...what happened?” he asked.

Donna looked around before answering. “Hope and Katz happened,” she said. “I think they were trying to thank me for the food. I started laughing out of nowhere, fell down when I tried to stand, threw up twice, and needed help taking the two steps to my cot. I didn’t realize I’d feel so bad the next morning. Or, indeed, the morning after that. If not for that, I’d have gotten away with it.”

“I remember how back when I was a student, I could party all night and then go to an eight-thirty lecture.” Theodosius sighed. “I heard the directors got involved?”

“Yes,” Donna said sadly. “Nutrient bars and water for two weeks.”

Theodosius winced. “No, I meant that I heard that they searched you really intensely.”

“No, it was actually quite perfunctory. The director from One turned up, worried about the blow to his prestige, and asked the guards to search me. I couldn’t even stay standing, I felt so ill.”

“Excuse me?” Holder said from behind them. Donna and Theodosius turned around to see the man catching up to them. “Mrs. Blues, I heard you weren’t feeling well yesterday. Are you better now?”

“Yes,” she said. 

“That’s nice.” Holder walked between the two of them. “I hope the nutrient bars don’t taste too bad. I know normal people don’t like them.” Donna winced at the word choice, but said nothing. Holder had made it clear that he would refer to himself however he wanted.

“They don’t fill me up at all,” she said instead. “You must be hungry all the time.”

“If I didn’t eat them, I’d be even hungrier, because I can’t eat half the food they give us!” Holder sounded oddly cheerful. “The hunger goes away pretty fast, though. There’s enough calories in there, after all. And they taste good, too.”

“They don’t even have a taste!” Donna protested.

“Exactly,” Holder said with a satisfied nod. “So, what happened to you? Hope said she went in to clean your cell yesterday after dinner, and you didn’t even twitch when she covered you with the blankets.”

Donna wanted to sink through the ground. “Just really hungover, I guess,” she said.

“I once knew someone who never got hungover,” Holder reminisced. “She was much smaller than you, Mrs. Blues, a cup of beer made her get up and dance on a table and two sent her under it, but no matter how drunk she got, the next morning, she was up bright and early.”

“How old was she?” Theodosius asked.

“Mid-twenties, I think.”

“Must be nice,” Theodosius sighed wistfully.

Donna spotted Hope leaning against the wall, catching her breath after doing pushups. “I’ll catch up to you two,” she said, and hurried towards the older woman.

“Ms. Hope?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to thank you for cleaning up my cell,” Donna said awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes. “And making sure I was safe.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. You make a very manageable drunk, Mrs. Blues. Not like my old sergeant. He punched me in the face once when I told him he was too drunk to go on patrol.”

The Peacekeepers’ supply of stories was truly inexhaustible. “What happened?” Donna asked. The two of them began to walk down the path, Hope putting on her sweater.

“This was in middle-of-nowhere Eleven,” Hope said by way of explanation. “He told me to fuck off, punched me in the face, and went to harass the locals. He tried to grope some girl, but she just hid in a peach tree and he was too drunk to climb up after her!” Hope laughed. Donna glanced around to make sure that none of the guards, and especially ones from Eleven, were listening. “Funny thing is, the girl went to our barracks that very night. Not for the sergeant, mind you, for some ordinary Peacekeeper, but he still got wind of it. That Peacekeeper, was actually rooming with me - we got two to a room there, gotta love rural barracks - so I came back from patrol and he was screaming all over again. At least he didn’t try to punch anyone again.” Hope laughed again, straightening out her sweater.

“So what happened to the girl?” Donna asked. “How old was she, anyway?”

“Nineteen, twenty, something like that.” Hope took off her cap, smoothed out her short wavy hair, and put it back on. “He pulled rank and got her, but my buddy got her second. I ended up spending the night on the couch in the kitchen. Then, it turned out she paid her with my money, because she had lost all of hers at cards. I was this close to punching _her_ in the face, but she gave it back the next time payday rolled around, so no harm done.” For some reason, Peacekeepers had been paid in cash, with predictable results.

Donna was sure that if she wrote a book that was just crazy stories the former Peacekeepers had told her, nobody would believe it was true.

* * *

To add insult to injury, Dr. Chu appeared almost immediately after the cell doors were locked for the day. To add confusion to the mix, she continued with the previous week’s topic.

“Have you done any thinking about this in the past few days?”

Donna nodded, kneading the orange ball. “And I’m still not quite sure how to articulate it.” Dr. Chu had seized on Donna’s reaction to the end of _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ , and was analyzing it from every conceivable angle. “I mean, I think the book’s right. If you’re condemned to a hundred - or twenty-five - years of solitude, you’re not going to get another chance.” She rushed to tell the psychologist a joke she had thought of recently. “You should make sure Hryb doesn’t get his hands on the book. If you do some serious rounding, the title could eventually apply to him.” Even eighty years would require him to live to a hundred and nine, but with how much resources went to keeping them in good health, it would probably happen. 

“There is a difference between one hundred years and twenty-five years,” Dr. Chu pointed out, turning Donna’s own words against her as always.

Donna rolled the ball between her palms. “Just because I’ll be outside and breathing doesn’t mean much.”

“Outside, breathing, and talking.”

“You think I’d be allowed to talk?” Donna asked sceptically.

Strangely enough, Dr. Chu laughed. “I am one hundred percent sure you will not only be allowed, but encouraged to talk. Trust me on this.” She adjusted her kerchief, which was thickly embroidered with bright colours and patterns.

“Huh,” Donna said, rubbing the ball between her fingers. “You really think-”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” There was a pause. Donna hated talking about the future, but it was Dr. Chu’s favourite topic. It was strange to imagine being encouraged to talk, with how strict the censorship was. But then again, didn’t they constantly talk about how what the directors wanted was not what the people wanted? And who knew what could happen in the next twenty years. Who knew when she’d actually be released. “I guess I’d want to tell people about myself. Tell them about the regime. Tell them how not to do things.”

“Why?” Well, at least Dr. Chu wasn’t trying to persuade her to admit guilt. Donna was sick of telling her, over and over, that she had nothing to feel guilty for. The psychologist was either conflating guilt and responsibility, or messing with her on purpose.

“Because what else can I do?” Donna asked. “I was in Snow’s inner circle. Barring the directors suddenly and against all logic agreeing to release everyone, I’ll be the only one capable of telling the world what it was like to be in it. And maybe I could warn people.”

“You’d be a cautionary tale to all the young engineers of the world?” Dr. Chu asked, looking more content than Donna had ever seen her.

“I was thinking young professionals in general. Anyone whose job is apolitical. Being apolitical didn’t save me from being tangled up in the Games, nor did it save the biologists and doctors of the IGR from the atrocities committed there, or the bureaucrats who managed the Districts from - well, you know.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. Donna braced herself for more questions about the Districts, but she simply wrote something down and asked her about how her family was doing. 

“So, how was the week in general?” she asked afterwards.

Donna half-smiled. “Mostly good.”

“I can imagine what part wasn’t so good,” Dr. Chu said with a laugh.

“I still don’t feel back to optimal,” Donna said. “And I didn’t even do it on purpose!” She kneaded the ball, feeling the little balls roll against her fingers.

Dr. Chu nodded. “You’ve always been very careful about remaining in control of yourself before,” she said softly. “You never let yourself relax.”

“Yeah,” Donna agreed. “First I was too worried about my parents, and then I was too worried about my job. Plus with the way Dem’s family was, we never even had alcohol in the house. At gatherings, I’d spend the entire night drinking a single tiny glass of wine.” She chuckled at the memory.

“Normally,” Dr. Chu said, “people from your background overcompensate while in college, but you didn’t even have that option.”

“I think you’re going too far here,” Donna pointed out. “This isn’t some sort of midlife crisis or anything.”

The psychologist nodded. “Partially, you’re right. It was a one-time thing, am I right?” Donna nodded, shame-faced. “I’m just trying to figure out what it must be like to be you. To oversimplify, you spend your entire life under self-imposed tight discipline, always with plenty to lose. Then, all of a sudden, you were plunged into a lifestyle more akin to that of an average teenager, with the discipline imposed on you. And, unlike with a teenager, no matter what you do, it won’t have permanent and indelible consequences. If you break a rule or two, the consequences will be short-term, though still painful.” Donna nodded, remembering the week of total solitary for a single potato. “You and your fellows, you carve out niches, come up with ways to evade the rules and regulations. After all, you’re not in danger of having your life ruined over a single misstep.”

“There’s nothing left to ruin,” Donna said lightly. The psychologist was definitely oversimplifying, this sort of framework only really applied to her. The others probably just didn’t want to give up their lifestyles.

“You push boundaries, simply because you can, for the first time in your life.”

The way the psychologist was carrying on, one would have thought that the inmates were fourteen to seventeen, not forty to seventy. Donna got the point, though. “I guess that’s true. I don’t really remember what happened, but I know that if I had wanted, I could have simply taken a few sips instead of chugging the entire thing. Clearly, a part of me wanted to know what would happen. In fact, had I been fourteen instead of forty, I probably could have gotten up the next morning without issue.”

Dr. Chu nodded. “And how will this inform your actions going forward?”

“Never drink again.”

“That’s certainly true,” the psychologist said, laughing. “I think that should be the easiest part.”

“I think that everyone will keep the alcohol as far away from me as possible.”

“By the way, do you have any idea who could have given it to you?” Dr. Chu asked.

“I don’t remember,” Donna explained, “and it _could_ have been anyone.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “Now, please walk me through how you felt today interacting with the others.”

“Well, it was definitely awkward to talk to Hope. She’s the one who cleaned my cell yesterday after the search. I feel bad for making her do that.”

“Could you be more specific?”

Donna realized the trap was laid. Frantically, she kneaded at the ball, trying to think of a good way to respond. “Well, it’s embarrassing to be seen like that,” she said honestly.

“Just that?”

“No,” Donna said, not bothering to play along, “and I don’t see why you twist every single situation to try and draw the parallel.” She rolled the ball between her palms “At the end of it, I don’t really regret it. Stupid, yes, I shouldn’t have done that, yes, but no harm done.”

“Except to yourself.”

“It’s just three days of headache and two weeks of nutrient bars,” Donna said with a shrug. “As you yourself just pointed out, before the Supermax, the consequences could have been much more dire.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “You don’t regret breaking the rules?”

“Well, I do, because now, we’ll probably be watched much more carefully.”

“So you’re saying you only regret being caught?”

“I told you, this comparison is inappropriate.”

“Do you or do you not?”

Donna wanted to tell Dr. Chu exactly what she regretted and did not regret, but held back. “Yes,” she almost spat. “If I had gotten away with it, I wouldn’t have regretted it. Or anything else.” She clenched the ball in her hand. “Happy now? Go tell the directors I’m as remorseless as everyone else.”

Dr. Chu raised her eyebrows slightly. “At what point did you start feeling bad about what you had done?”

“When I was confronted with the fact that my way of looking at things was not the only one.” It always came down to either the forced labourers or this. If Dr. Chu had been the Chief Prosecutor from Eleven, nobody who had been mentioned even once in the case Eleven handled would have left the Justice Building alive, or at least that’s what it seemed like in times like this.

“And when was that?”

They retreaded familiar ground from there. Was Dr. Chu just forcing her to say these things over and over in an attempt to catch her in a lie? Donna rubbed at her still-aching head, wondering how the psychologist managed to tie every little thing, no matter how inconsequential, to the past.


	41. In Progress

“I’m not quite sure how this is supposed to take us the entire morning,” Donna said, looking at the little blackcurrant-gooseberry plants, which only had a handful of dark purple berries each.

“We can always water the potatoes again,” Theodosius said, crouching down straight across from one of the plants and maneuvering his hand into the tiny thicket of spiky twigs. They were scattered all over the yard, requiring them to walk around and around just for a couple of berries. In a few years, though, it would probably take multiple people to pick them all.

Crouching down next to Theodosius, Donna carefully picked a single berry. It did look just like a gooseberry, except dark purple instead of green or reddish. “Why won’t it rain?” she complained to the bush. “I’m sick of carrying the huge watering cans back and forth.” This year, their potato patch was too far away to be reached by the hose, and thus they were stuck with the watering cans, which were just too heavy for Donna to carry with one hand.

“I should have made Li swap with me,” Theodosius said, not for the first time. “He could probably juggle the watering cans while they’re full.” He juggled four of the berries for emphasis, making them go in a circle. Donna watched the little purple orbs fly through the air. 

“You’re improving so fast,” she said.

“Thanks.” Theodosius caught the berries and put them into the small bucket by their feet. “I managed to juggle five balls during the psychologist’s last visit.” He had tried to learn how to juggle years ago, and had resumed it again in the past few weeks.

Donna carefully picked the last berry off the bush. They looked rather lonely, rolling around the bottom of the bucket. Theodosius reapplied sunscreen, and held out the tube to Donna, who did likewise. It was bright and sunny, though not too unbearably hot today. Still, Donna could feel the sun’s rays bake her as she crouched in the grass, which was green and soft thanks to intensive watering. She sat back, running the blades of grass through her fingers. It wasn’t just ordinary lawn grass, though, but many different kinds of plants that gave her some variety to look at. Donna watched a nearly spherical bumblebee fly by and land on a clover. “Hey, look!” she said, pointing at the little insect.

“What?” Theodosius turned around from staring at the top of the wall. His face softened when he saw the bumblebee. “Aww, it’s so cute. It looks like a little ball of fuzz.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Donna said, bending down to watch the bumblebee poke around in the clover. “It’s spherical.”

The bumblebee flew off, but landed on another clover even closer to them. “Looks like you way back when,” Theodosius said. “Bouncing around from arena to arena.” He smiled at her.

Donna chuckled. “I don’t think I was ever that round, though.”

“Well, maybe not, but you did look pretty similar.”

“So if I’m the bumblebee, you’re the clover?” Donna asked teasingly. “The width-to-height ratio seems just right.” Theodosius shifted over slightly and looked down at her, showing off said height. Meanwhile, the bumblebee must have been offended by the comparison, and flew off. “Aww, it’s gone.”

“A pity,” Theodosius said. “And I’d say that the clover is more like you now.”

“What, big-headed?” Donna joked. Theodosius put a hand to his forehead, laughing.

“Well, I was actually also thinking of the the width-to-height ratio, but since you brought it up-” 

“What’s so funny?” Donna and Theodosius turned sideways, where Groat was standing with a watering can on her head. They climbed to their feet.

“We saw a bumblebee,” Donna explained. “It was very round.”

“Aww,” Groat said. “Bumblebees are adorable. Is it still here?” She looked around the grass nearby.

“It flew away,” Theodosius said sadly.

“Oh. Well, I’ll see you later!” Groat walked off, visibly struggling to keep the watering can balanced.

Donna looked around the yard. “Let’s go to that one next,” she said, pointing to the closest bush.

“Sure, but let’s stop for some water first.”

They walked down the path, berries rattling in the bucket Theodosius was carrying. They stopped only for a few seconds to drink some warm water from the taps, as nobody was hanging around there at the moment, other than Hryb. He had just been released from a month of total solitary and was in no mood to talk. The younger man sat draped over a pipe and looked to be contemplating how far he could push the administration next time.

Donna and Theodosius headed for the next plant. It was just as small, though it was much more spread out, to the point where it needed to be supported by a small wooden frame. And, of course, it only had ten or so berries. “At this rate,” Donna said as she counted mentally, “we’re going to have one hundred berries total.”

Theodosius glanced around before eating one berry. “Ninety-nine now,” he said. “Huh, they do taste like a hybrid.”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Donna also plucked a berry from its twig and ate it. It was amazingly sweet and juicy, thin skin practically bursting in her mouth. “It tastes so good!”

“I forgot how juicy berries can be,” Theodosius said, picking the last two berries and placing them in the bucket. “I think I’m too used to the dried ones they give us.” They climbed to their feet and headed for the next bush.

Donna licked at the inside of her mouth, trying to get at every little bit of berry. “Yeah. Wait a second, what’s that guard doing?” The two of them walked faster, but the guard saw them first. She stood up and walked away as if nothing was happening, and when Donna and Theodosius reached the berry bush she had been crouching in front of, there were only two berries left on it. “Alright, that’s not fair,” she said, bending down and picking the berries.

“Why do they act like they can do whatever they want?” Theodosius complained. Donna shrugged, rolling the berries around her palm before putting them into the bucket.

It was getting hotter. Donna rolled up her trouser legs to above the knee, though she didn’t risk taking off her shirt. The guards were getting a little bit softer, but not by much. “Because they can,” she said.

“But that’s the thing, they’re breaking rules left and right,” Theodosius pointed out as they walked down the path, which was still barely warm. “We get yelled at if we as much as look at a berry, while they can treat our yard like their personal buffet.”

Donna shrugged. “It’s not fair,” she said, “but it’s not like we can do anything about it.”

“I was talking to my lawyer a while back,” Theodosius whispered. “She can’t do anything, either, at least for now. Everyone wants to forget anything before 76 ever happened.”

Donna had heard about that, too, and it irritated her. What was the point of all of this if the same mistakes would be made over and over again? Surprisingly few newspaper articles were blacked out, and those that were and had to be snuck in by guards seldom actually confronted recent history head-on, only dancing around the topic when talking about some politician’s history. “There’s a movement in the Capitol to free us all on principle,” she said. Donna wasn’t sure what she thought of that. She wanted out, yes, but not if it meant aligning herself with the revanchists. In any case, as far as she could tell, they were a tiny minority on the fringes of society. “I wonder how that works - their loudest detractors are the people who just want to move on and forget anything bad happened. Not quite the unified front of revanchism the _Capitol Daily_ warns about.”

“Unified or not, I don’t blame them for panicking when a majority in the Capitol thinks generally positively of Snow,” Theodosius said. “I don’t have the faintest idea as to how Morling managed to get elected.” The governor of the Capitol had been a Rebel and a defector. Now, leaders of Districts were called governors, like the leaders of states centuries ago, while the former municipal, town, and village mayors were simply called mayors.

“Makes sense to me. Everyone wants a clean break with the past, so they vote for someone with no sordid past.” Morling had actually been a town mayor decades ago before being forced into retirement and eventually defecting to Thirteen. Apparently, his first words upon coming back had been ‘Wow, things really went downhill after I left.’

“Still, someone who makes no secret of his own anti-Games past? It’s like everyone’s bipolar, swinging back and forth between supporting defectors and pretending that there had never been a reason for anyone to defect.” Theodosius put the bucket down next to yet another tiny plant and quickly picked its five berries. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. The less people care, the less likely it is that anyone will bother our kids.” He stood up, wiping sweat from his face. 

“True,” Donna said. She herself was constantly worrying about her children, especially Donna, who as the eldest and also the one named after her would bear the brunt of any suspicion. “I think it’s a bad thing that they don’t talk about it at school, though,” she pointed out. “How will they learn?”

Theodosius looked inside the bucket suspiciously. The lonely berries rolled around the bottom, colliding with each other and the bucket with quiet thunks. “They’ll read the news,” he said. “They’ll talk to older people. Hopefully, that will be enough.” 

“Hopefully,” Donna said.

* * *

Berries all picked, Donna and Theodosius walked towards the shed, inside of which two guards were solving crosswords from a thick book, ostensibly making sure nobody was using the shed to conspire. Stepping inside, Donna and Theodosius doffed their caps, Donna holding out the small bucket to one of the guards, a man from Four. “That’s the blackcurrant-gooseberry hybrid,” she said.

The guard took it and looked inside the bucket. “There’s barely a berry for each of us!” he complained. 

The other guard, a woman from Nine, barely lifted her eyes from the crossword. “Next year, there will be more.”

“And in ten years, we’ll be canning them by the litre, but I won’t be there then, just like I probably won’t be next year!” He sounded very upset by the prospect. “By the way, do you know any Siberian rivers that have a name that’s two letters long?”

“That has to be the Ob river,” Theodosius said.

“As if any of us will be here in ten years,” the guard from Nine said. 

Carefully penciling in the answer, the guard from Four ignored her. “Thank you. Do you think the administration would let me take a cutting home?” he asked.

Donna and Theodosius were still trying to process the words of the guard from Nine. “Probably,” Donna said.

“Roll down your trouser legs!” the guard from Nine demanded. “I can’t see your numbers.”

“But you know us anyway!” Theodosius complained, doing as he was told and straightening back up.

“I’m bad with faces.”

“Maybe I’ll put in for a few more years,” the guard from Four said. “It’s not like I have a family to worry about.”

“Do you know any eighteenth-century Russian composers?” the guard from Nine asked.

Donna shook her head. “Ask Cast, she knows those sorts of things.”

“Who’s Cast?” 

Donna blinked, taken aback.

“I’m bad with names.”

The guard from Four leaned over to her, which wasn’t really necessary in the cramped space. “Female Twenty-Nine.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at Donna and Theodosius. “Uh, dismissed,” she said. They stepped out of the shed, blinking at the bright sunlight and pulling their caps lower.

“We won’t be here in ten years?” he asked her.

“Who said that?” Trotman asked. She was walking in the opposite direction of them with an empty bucket in one hand.

“A guard from Nine.”

“Well, that doesn’t really help me, does it?” Even if nothing changed, she’d still be out in three and a half years. “Still, that would be nice for you.”

“That it would be,” Donna agreed. They kept on walking, Donna and Theodosius heading towards the nearby taps. They wedged watering cans into the sinks and turned on the water. As they waited for them to fill, Donna took off her cap and poured handfuls of water on her head. She put her cap back on, wiping water from her eyes.

Theodosius stared at the watering cans impatiently, hands on his hips. Donna leaned over one, watching it slowly fill up. Finally, the sound of water hitting water changed, and they closed the taps. Donna carefully maneuvered the can out of the sink, holding it with one hand. The weight wasn’t too bad for now. “Let’s water the meadow next,” she said.

“Alright.” Watering the meadow took an eternity, because it was too far away for the hoses to reach. They had to carry endless cans of water back and forth, but it was worth it. And in any case, it’s not like they had anything better to do. “What did you think of the news?” he asked.

“The curry recipe in the _Capitol Daily_ looks very tasty,” Donna said.

Theodosius agreed. “They should really black out the recipes. I’m going to start dreaming about it now.”

“I don’t think Dem can send in curry,” Donna whispered. “Not without more sympathetic guards.”

Shifting the can to his other hand, Theodosius sighed sadly. “Maybe later,” he said.

“Maybe.”

There was a pause as they walked, bare feet quietly hitting the ground and watering cans hitting their legs. “I can’t believe they gave Shine ten years,” Theodosius said.

“Same,” Donna said. “It’s an outrage. He wasn’t allowed to choose his job, he had several former prisoners testify in his favour, and they still gave him more than they gave to Trotman and Renko! Where is the logic?” 

Last night, the news had been smuggled in that Jake Shine, a former Peacekeeper who had worked in a particularly nasty prison in Two, had been sentenced to ten years in prison. While that was quite light compared to the death penalty the prosecution had demanded, it was still insanely harsh. 

“I think it’s because he was from the Capitol,” Theodosius said. “I doubt Two would be so harsh on one of theirs.”

“It’s an outrage that he even ended up in Two!” Donna exclaimed. “Snow’s still ruining lives out of his grave.” Shine had been a skilled mathematician working on his PhD and as a janitor at the University of Panem at the same time, until a family tragedy left him incapable of paying his fees and helping his family at the same time. And since only current students had been able to work menial jobs at the university, Shine ended up fired at the same time. Desperate, he joined the Peacekeepers. Assigned to one of the worst prisons in the District, he was known as one of the nicer guards, though he never dared to directly disobey orders, for fear of being fired. Now, it appeared he would be the scapegoat for all of his colleagues. 

They reached their potato patch and began watering the plants. “At least they’ll let him continue his studies in prison,” Theodosius said. “After all, he _had_ participated in that massacre, I don’t think it would have been right to let him go, but still, ten years? Surely the mitigating circumstances make up for it.”

“I wonder, how will that work?” Donna mused. “Will his advisor have to sign up for visits?”

Theodosius chuckled at the mental image. “Pity he’s not in here with us, then. I bet a few of the guards would have been able to help him out.”

“True.” Donna emptied the last drops of water out of the can, shaking it.

* * *

At the taps, several of the former Peacekeepers were likewise discussing Shine. “What’s going on with the justice system?” Blackstone asked as she washed a bucket of baby potatoes in a sink. “Since when are you allowed to study while in prison?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Theodosius asked. “I remember I was shocked when they gave us books in jail. If they’re radically reforming pretty much everything, why not prisons as well?”

Blackstone shrugged, carefully scrubbing a nano-potato with a fingernail. “I thought it was because they were trying to distract us with good conditions.”

Verdant chimed in. He and Best were leaning against the wall. “Strange, given how Slice was treated in Thirteen.”

“That was under Coin,” Donna pointed out. “Remember how they suddenly started treating us better after Everdeen killed her?”

“But what does democratization have to do with prison reform?” Blackstone asked. She carefully inspected a potato before placing it into another bucket. 

Donna and Theodosius placed their watering cans into the sinks and let them fill. “Isn’t that their thing?” Li said from behind them. Donna nearly jumped when she heard his voice. She hadn’t heard him approach. “In democratic and prosperous countries, you’re going to see much better prison conditions.”

“I know about the rehabilitative model,” Blackstone said. “What I don’t understand is why.”

“It works pretty well.” Li squatted down and looked at the potatoes. “Are you sure you need to keep those microbes?”

“That’s not the question here,” Verdant said. “I’ve read about it, too. If the statistics say it’s good, then it’s good. But it requires a lot of resources. Why are they putting so much effort into trying to reform a bunch of criminals? As if they have nothing better to do.”

The nearby guards looked to be holding back laughter. 

“No idea about that,” Li admitted. “All I have are the same newspapers as you.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Li,” Best said in a kind voice. “I don’t even know how you know what books to ask for!”

Li shrugged, fiddling with a potato. “Same as you. I ask for a certain category, they give me something random, and then I look in the bibliography for more useful stuff.” That was the only way to get a book the title of which they did not know. “Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll, your watering cans are overflowing.”

Donna turned around, and saw that he was right. She turned off the taps. “We’ll get going now,” she said. As soon as the guards were out of earshot, she asked Theodosius, “Did you see how those guards were laughing?”

He nodded. “I suppose it must be funny to them. Prisoners talking about prison.”

* * *

“Has your daughter started preparing for university applications yet?” Kim asked, sitting down beside her.

“My parents are panicking more than she is,” Donna said, shifting over slightly on the hot ground. “What even is there to prepare? Her grade eleven marks are stellar, her grade twelve marks will probably be just as good, and that’s all she needs. Engineering’s not the kind of program where you need extracurriculars and letters of recommendation,” she explained, seeing the shock and envy flicker across Kim’s face. 

“So what are your parents panicking about, then?” she asked. 

Donna shrugged. “As if they need an excuse to panic when academics are on the line.” 

“To be honest, same here.” Kim drew patterns in the dust. “My brother is already panicking about his daughter.”

“Isn’t she going to be starting grade eleven in September?” Donna asked. “Maybe that’s just how it goes, parents being more stressed about uni apps than the children. Maybe if I was there, I’d be hounding Donna day and night to study more.”

Kim rubbed her hands together, trying to get rid of the dust. “I can’t imagine you as a strict parent.”

“Oh, no, I definitely was one before. Whenever I’d come back from on location, the first thing I’d want to know was how school was going. Well, that’s still the first thing I ask, but I’ve got no power over them anymore.” Donna took off her cap and used it to fan herself. “Now, we just have nothing else to talk about.”

“I understand,” Kim said. “My niece is visiting me next month, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to talk about with her.” She pushed her cap back on her head. It was a bit strange that Kim could be visited by her niece, but since she had neither a spouse nor children, the administration was probably willing to widen the circle a little bit.

“It’s always awkward with the children,” Donna sighed. “They’re not as good at talking about nothing for half an hour.” She looked around the yard. Theodosius was finally back. “I’m going to go continue weeding now.”

“Of course.” 

Donna got up reluctantly, not wanting to move around in the heat, and approached Theodosius. It was definitely late afternoon now, shadows lengthening rapidly, not that it was that much cooler in them.

“Anything interesting?” she asked Theodosius as they headed towards the squash.

“The bald warden from Six hates the weather,” he said. The front of his shirt was soaking wet. “Other than that, nothing.”

“Don’t we all.” Donna wished that they didn’t have to go inside as soon as the weather started becoming nice. It was hot and stuffy in their cells in the evenings. 

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Kim’s niece is visiting soon.” They reached the squash and crouched down next to the buckets they had left there. Donna tore out a small weed and shook off the dirt. “She’s worried about not having anything to talk about with her.”

Theodosius crushed the weeds in his bucket to free up more space. “How well do they even know each other? I doubt I’d find it easy to talk to a more distant relative.”

“Her niece is her second-closest living relative, after her brother,” Donna pointed out. “They were probably quite close.”

“True,” Theodosius said. “Not like us. Once the kids are old enough, I’ll be able to see everyone less than once a year.”

“I think I have it worse,” Donna pointed out. “I’ve got five kids, two parents, a husband, and a brother. That’s an eighteen-month cycle.” She reached into a squash plant to pull out several weeds that were practically wrapped around it.

“Who do you see next?”

Donna struggled to remember. “An hour-long visit from Donna in November. You’re seeing Cynthia in September, right?”

“Yeah. An hour-long visit? Why?”

“Because by that point, the early acceptances will be out.”

Theodosius looked sceptical. “Isn’t that too much pressure on her?”

“Donna’s the one who said she’ll get in early,” Donna said with a shrug. “It was her idea.”

“What were her marks last year?” Theodosius asked, digging his fingers deep into the ground to grab a particularly stubborn weed by the root. 

“Mid-nineties, and she thinks she can improve.” Donna pulled out a whole bunch of long, thin weeds. “Honestly, I just want all this to end already. I can tell she’s stressed from her letters, and it’s the middle of summer.” She shoved the weeds into the overflowing bucket. Noticing that, Theodosius offered to go throw out the weeds, and Donna accepted.

“In any case, we should be going back inside soon,” he said, glancing at the sky.

* * *

_The World_ had an entire article dedicated to applying to study abroad. Donna read it with interest. Maybe she should encourage one of the younger kids to do something like that, make the best of an opportunity she herself had never had. She reread the article several times, feeling more and more sad each time. The article made studying abroad sound like such an amazing experience; the unfairness of the fact that several generations including hers had been denied the opportunity stung badly. She got up to talk to Grass.

“Did you see the article about studying abroad?” she asked.

Grass looked up from perusing her own copy of _The World_. “Yes,” she said. “Is your daughter thinking about going to a different country?”

Donna had never even thought about that possibility. “No, not at all. Maybe one of the younger ones might be interested at some point.”

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? To go abroad, see a different country. My wife’s actually thinking of going to South America for a vacation this winter.”

South America sounded nice. “Where exactly in South America?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think they still haven’t decided. Probably somewhere warm, though. Also, what are the guards doing?” 

Donna leaned out the door. “Playing go.”

“Check this out,” Grass said, waving an article in the air. Quick as a flash, Donna snatched the article from her hand and began to read. It was a relatively short article. It said that several spouses of the Supermax inmates had sent Paylor a letter asking for clemency, but did not name names or even say what the letter said.

“That’s not very informative,” Donna said, turning the piece of newsprint over in the vain hope that there would be something interesting on the other side. “Although if it made the papers, that’s still something.”

Grass tapped her chin with a finger. “I’m thinking that the full letter was also published somewhere, but it’s either in a newspaper we don’t get or the guards are not willing to give it to us.”

“Any idea as to whose spouses wrote the letter?” Donna asked, curious to know.

“Could be absolutely anyone who has a spouse. Not you, probably, yours is off doing his own thing, and not my wife, because she’d have told me.” That still left a lot of people. “I doubt it matters, though. If they wrote it as a group, personal connections and influence don’t really matter, because they’re playing on the Supermax connection.”

Donna struggled to understand the meaning of that. “You mean how they’re doing this in the public eye, instead of going to influential people they know?”

“That also plays a role. Why don’t you sit down?” Grass got up from her chair and sat down on her cot, leaving Donna the chair. “I think that the public reaction was apathy. Otherwise, odds are we’d have found out about it already.”

Donna wasn’t so sure that that was a bad thing. “Apathy is better than outrage,” she pointed out. 

“That is very true,” Grass said. She sat cross-legged on her cot, open newspaper lying in front of her. A few of the articles were blacked out. “There’s still so much we’re missing,” she complained. “Most of the time, when an article is blacked out, we don’t find out what it was. I get that most of them won’t help us in any way, but I still don’t like being blocked from knowing something this way.” She stared at one of the blacked-out articles as if focusing enough would give her the ability to see through the black marker.

Leaning over, Donna noticed that she was perusing the culture section. “I don’t understand how a fashion column can have something forbidden in it,” she said, pointing out the section she was referring to.

“I don’t understand half the things they do,” Grass pointed out. “Are the guards still playing?”

“Of course they’re playing,” Donna said as she got up and made sure that they were, indeed, still playing, “what else would they be doing?”

“Good. Let’s go talk to Blatt.”

Donna had zero desire to talk to Blatt, but she still went into her cell. Grass handed Blatt the article. “I had no idea about this,” she said. 

That was odd. Blatt’s husband was normally in the thick of the efforts to have them released. “Well, what do you think, now that you do?” Donna asked.

“I’ll have to ask my husband if he was behind this,” she said. “Otherwise, it clearly didn’t work, if this is all they wrote about it. I suppose we should be grateful they even wrote this much.” Blatt was sitting on her cot, newspapers neatly stacked by her side. 

“That’s what I was thinking,” Grass said. “At least it’s easier to make apathetic people sympathetic than trying to deal with outrage like before.” Donna slipped out of the cell and headed back towards her own, tired of interacting with the others. The guards sat at the end of the cell block, not lifting their heads from their board. Donna walked into her cell and closed the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes and socks, took off her shirt and hung it up on a hook, and sat down on her cot. Time to read her books. Today, she was going to be starting a new book, about morality and ethics. Donna put a piece of paper and her pen next to her, so she could take notes while reading. Dr. Chu would definitely want to know what she thought of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing /u/espionage_is_whatido has drawn another bit of fanart for the story.   
> Here is Theodosius: https://imgur.com/5VvFJtu  
> Here is the drawing of Donna they made a while back: https://imgur.com/IUHw4Nv


	42. Acceptance

“So,” Donna said, smiling, “I heard there’s news in store today?” 

Her daughter stared at her hands. “I got my acceptance letter two days ago,” she said in an emotionless tone.

“Congratulations!” Donna was echoed by the guards and the director from Eleven. 

“Well, it’s only conditional,” her daughter said, wringing her hands. “I have to keep up my marks, or I’ll lose my scholarship, or even my acceptance.”

“Scholarship?” Donna asked, leaning forward. “You got a scholarship?” Things must have really changed if someone like her daughter could get a scholarship. “How?”

“I actually have two,” her daughter explained. “I’m eligible for half of my tuition to be covered because my average is over ninety-five percent, but it doesn’t really matter. If I keep my marks above eighty-five, all my costs will be covered because, according to their rules, I’m the child of a single parent with three or more underage children whose income is under a certain level I can’t remember right now.”

Single parent?

“Above eighty-five?” Donna asked instead. “You’re certainly going to do better than that!” 

Her daughter shrugged.

“You know, it’s amazing that they’re giving out scholarships like that,” Donna said. “In my day, students ended up in debt for life because of the loans they took out. When I was studying for my Master’s degree, I worked construction and as a TA at the same time, and my poorer classmates worked as janitors instead of as unpaid interns.” She thought of the former Peacekeeper who had once been a janitor and PhD student.

“Interns have to be paid now,” her daughter said.

“That’s great,” Donna said sincerely. “Don’t think too hard about that for now, though.” She paused, trying to pick her words. “How did the application process go?” she asked carefully.

Her daughter shrugged. “Easy as anything. You go onto this webpage, make an account, your student number is used instead of your name so it’s completely anonymous, you select a program, and click ‘apply’. The school sends in your records for you. Of course, if there’s supplementary essays or something you need to write, then you do that on that site, too.”

“That’s very nice,” Donna said. “Sounds much fairer than what we had. What are you going to do now?” She wanted to get away from the topic of anonymity, which veered too close to the topic of why exactly her daughter would have found the application process easier with her name concealed.

“Keep my marks up, I suppose. Grandma and Grandpa are warning me about how uni’s so hard, even you struggled.” Her daughter rolled her eyes. “When I left the house today, they were bragging to some distant acquaintances.”

“And your dad?”

“Baked me a cake.” 

“What kind of cake?” Donna asked with interest.

“It’s a dense but fluffy chocolate biscuit made on condensed milk, with sour cream based frosting.” Her daughter sat up straighter, looking more alert. “I had this idea that you could make two portions of batter, one with cocoa and the other without, and make the biscuits marbled. Today, I’m going to make brownies like that.”

Donna leaned forward. “I wish I could taste it.” That sounded amazing.

“Eventually.” Hopefully, that meant ‘soon’.

“And how is school?”

“Actually, I have a picture I want to give to you,” her daughter said with a slight smile. Donna glanced at the director.

“You can show it,” the director said, “but it will have to be formally approved.” That was a surprise. Before, only family photos had been allowed. Donna watched as her daughter took a photograph out of her bag. She turned it around, and Donna saw...something.

The drawing depicted a strange being with no head and a smiling face on its chest. It was wearing wooden clogs. In one hand it held a cookpot, and in the other, a ladle. Under it was a ribbon with the words ‘When life gives you nettles, make nettle soup.’

“And how am I supposed to interpret this?” Donna asked, scratching her head. 

“Uh, it’s a joke from my Literature class,” her daughter explained.

“Aren’t you reading _Othello_? What does it have to do with...this?” She had read the play herself, and had no idea what the picture had to do with it.

“I’m not sure? I think it started because there was a line that goes something like ‘hanging clogs on them’ so we were arguing over what that means.” When Donna had been in highschool, there had been no arguing over what something meant. “Also, there was something about people with their heads on their chests.”

Donna vaguely remembered that part. “Alright, but where do the nettles come in?” 

“I don’t know. I think they were mentioned at one point, and one of my classmates said that you can make soup out of nettles. Then, someone else drew this, and emailed the picture to everyone.”

If Literature class had been so fun when Donna had been in highschool, maybe she’d actually have enjoyed it. “‘When life gives you nettles, make nettle soup’? I’ve heard that said about _lemons_ , not...nettles.”

“Still works, doesn’t it?” Her daughter leaned forward slightly and placed the picture against the barrier so she didn’t have to hold it up. “Works even better, actually. Nettles sting, but you approach them the right way, you can have soup.”

The guards and the director looked very confused. Donna glanced at the headless being, still not sure how she was supposed to understand this. Although, under the absurdity spawned by teenage imaginations, wasn’t it just a motivational poster calling on her to make the best of what she had?

* * *

When Donna walked into the gym, eyes flicked upwards and then lowered back to projects, whether they were being actively not worked on or not. “How did that go?” Theodosius asked.

Donna wanted to start with the nettle soup, but decided not to confuse everyone too much. “She got accepted,” she said, not even trying to hide her smile.

“That’s great!”

“Congratulations!”

“You must be so proud of her!”

“Thanks,” she said, picking up the panel she was working on and starting to crochet. “Also, apparently, she’s the child of a single parent now.” Donna couldn’t hide her bitterness at saying that, though she couldn’t deny the fairness of the decision. 

“Wait, why?” Strata sounded shocked. “Just because you’re in prison?”

Donna turned around slightly, putting one knee on the bench. “No, it’s because I’m incarcerated and also unemployed. It would be unfair to assume that she has two parents who can fund her education, because she doesn’t. I’m willing to bet there’s a separate category for families where one spouse stays at home, for the same reason.”

“It’s really unfair that they don’t pay us,” Katz said. “Isn’t this slave labour?”

“Shut up,” Donna snapped.

Conversations stopped in mid-sentence as everyone turned around to face her. Donna stared at the crochet rectangle in her lap. “What are you going on about?” Katz asked, sounding utterly confused.

“You can’t make that comparison,” Donna said weakly. Why had she even spoken up? “It’s wrong. We’re not being forced to do anything.”

Li looked at her strangely. “Not much of a choice, sitting in my cell all day or sitting on this bench.”

“Still a choice,” Donna said. “You talk as if we’re being tortured or something.”

“Aren’t you just the expert on that,” Katz said tonelessly.

Something inside Donna snapped. The guards were listening to this, after all. “Yes,” she said. “I am. And I’m not afraid to say it. Unlike you, _former Head Peacekeeper_.”

“Do you ever say anything without first checking to see who’s listening?” Li asked, nodding in the direction of a stone-faced guard, a woman from Eleven, who was sitting in a chair just two metres away from them and watching them.

“Do you have the slightest capacity for reflection?” Theodosius asked Li. At the same time, Donna fired back at him.

“And who’s responsible for the fact that I’m in this position in the first place?”

“Great,” Strata sighed quietly, “this nonsense again.”

Donna leaned over towards her, holding out an accusing finger. “If you can’t face the simple truth that your sentence was exactly what you deserve, I have nothing more to say to you.”

Before Strata could react, the guard was leaping up from her chair and dragging Donna off the bench. “Alright,” she said, “this is getting out of hand. Female Nine, you’re confined to your cell for the rest of the day.” Holding her by the collar, she forced Donna upright. Donna put her crochet on the bench and was practically dragged out into the corridor. The guard let go and took a step to the side. “Do you actually mean what you said?” she asked.

“About Strata?” Donna folded her arms on her chest, feeling cold and relieved. They could have stuffed her into total solitary for that had they wanted to. “I guess I crossed a line there. I shouldn’t go around telling people what to think.”

Footsteps echoed quietly in the corridor. “No, about yourself.”

“I never denied it,” Donna said mechanically. “My sentence is just.”

The guard looked at her, surprised. “I’ve never heard of a single inmate who thinks that they should be in prison.” She paused for a second. “Well, maybe one or two.”

“Either they’re convinced they did nothing wrong - or the right thing - or their families need them,” Donna pointed out. “How many inmates have you heard of that don’t fit into one or both of those categories?”

“But doesn’t your family need you?” the guard asked.

Donna sighed. “What for? They’re better off without me. Imagine what all of my ex-coworkers tell their children about the Games.”

“You know, Female Nine,” the guard said softly, “I don’t think I could ever forgive you, or Male Fifteen. But I do believe that you’re honest.”

“That’s more than could be expected of you.” Donna felt horribly awkward, all alone in the corridor with the guard. She also felt sick. That unpleasant squeezing feeling in her chest was back, and she wanted to cry.

Footsteps sounded behind them as they walked into the cell block. Dr. Chu had arrived. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, kerchief as always a welcome splash of colour among the drabness. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion at work?” The guard unlocked the door, and the two of them walked in. Donna sat down on her cot and took off her shoes.

“I guess you could call it that,” she said.

The psychologist settled into the chair, smiling. “Could you give me a brief rundown?” she asked, handing Donna a pink ball.

“My daughter indicated her family status on her application, and got a scholarship meant for children of single parents,” Donna explained. “Basically, our situation falls under that umbrella, as I am incarcerated and unemployed. When I said that, Katz complained about us not getting paid for our work, and called it slave labour.”

“Don’t you think it’s reasonable to complain about not being paid?” Dr. Chu asked. “After all, the only reason you aren’t is because you’re not under the authority of the national penitentiary system. Due to this technicality, you’re robbed of the minimum wage every other prison inmate doing light manual labour gets.”

This was a trick question. “Reasonable to complain, yes, but not like that!” Donna kneaded the ball. “Phrasing it like that invites a comparison, which is simply wrong.”

“Why? After all, any unpaid labour is slave labour, by definition. If an inmate works but does not get paid, that’s slave labour. Do you think you’re different?”

“No, but you know Katz! She definitely wanted to draw a comparison.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “And if it wasn’t Katz? What if it was me asking you right now?”

Donna leaned back against the wall, rolling the ball on her knees. “I guess then yes, I’m upset that I do work and don’t get paid for it.” Dr. Chu began to write. “No, no, stop! You’re taking me out of context. I’m not complaining about being allowed to work.”

“ _Allowed_?” the psychologist asked. “From my perspective, the choice between solitary confinement and unpaid work isn’t a choice at all.” Donna said nothing. “An odd word.”

No matter what Donna said, Dr. Chu would find a way to connect it to her past. “I guess it just seems to me that it’s wrong of us to complain about anything,” Donna eventually said. “I may not be paid, but I’m still better off than the forced labourers who were. I’m not even talking about the unpaid ones.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Bad,” Donna said. “I condoned that. I am responsible for what happened to the construction workers on location. How else can it make me feel?” Thinking about how she had given them extra food and pushed for better conditions just made it worse. To Dr. Chu, this partial recognition was worse than blind obedience, because it meant that she had been fully aware of what she had been doing.

Dr. Chu wrote something down. “Why are you so reluctant to admit guilt?”

“Because I have nothing to feel that way for,” Donna said irritably. “I never hurt anyone, never even gave the direct order to do so. Legally speaking, the verdict was ‘guilty’, but that’s not quite the same. You can do something that’s perfectly legal yet still morally reprehensible, and it works the same way the other way around.” She brought her knees to her chest.

“Are you saying you didn’t do anything morally reprehensible?”

Donna sat back up, leaning forward. “No. That was just an analogy, the extreme version. Of course what I did was morally reprehensible.”

“But why did you speak up?” Dr. Chu asked. “You never argued so passionately before.”

“I guess it was the phrasing Katz used.” Donna leaned back, feet dangling off the cot as she fidgeted with the ball. “It made me think of all the witnesses.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “But there were no incidents of slave labour under your direct jurisdiction,” she said. “That was reserved for Avoxes, prison inmates, and cases of group punishment in the Districts. According to your own testimony, you had not been aware of any of that.”

“I was aware of the Avoxes, just not of the details of the treatment,” Donna pointed out so that Dr. Chu didn’t. “And yes, I wasn’t, but the testimony shocked me greatly.”

Dr. Chu wrote something down. “Me, too,” she said. “I had heard many terrible stories from all sorts of people by that point, but some of it was new to even me. I cried when I heard the testimony of Dee Antus.”

“Who’s that?” Donna asked, trying to remember if she had ever heard that name mentioned or read it in a book.

“You tend to refer to them as the ‘eyeless child’ or ‘eyeless youth’.”

Donna remembered them very well. “Terrible, what they did to those poor children. And not just children.” Permanently institutionalized people with no family, as well as the homeless, had tended to end up in the IGR as the subjects of dreadful experiments.

“This is a rather strange thing to focus on, but I was struck by the suicide and defection rates among the interns,” Dr. Chu said, “when Capitol-raised Peacekeepers expressed extreme loathing of their job at a rate only a little bit higher than that of the Two-raised ones.”

“Why?” Donna asked, fidgeting with the ball. 

Dr. Chu adjusted her kerchief. “We’re still not sure. From the interviews, though, it appears that it had to do with the role they were performing. Soldiers are expected to behave a certain way, and interns - in a different one. Also, there is a hypothesis that ideological preparation or lack thereof also played a role.” She flipped through her notes. “Now, I apologize for the non sequitur, but Katz mockingly referred to you as an ‘expert on torture’.”

“I was very emotional,” Donna said, flattening the ball between her palms. “I don’t actually think that of myself. I do not bear responsibility for the tortures, though I did in a way abet it.”

“Would your friend Theodosius agree with that statement?”

Donna chuckled. “No. He thinks he bears responsibility for everything that happened while he was in the government. And then when you ask him if he feels responsible for some specific thing, he evades the question. At least I’m willing to say ‘yes’ and ‘no’.”

Dr. Chu wrote down a few words. “And what do you think of that?”

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “I don’t like to think about it. I mean, he’s my friend.”

“In that case, don’t you think you owe it to him to be honest?”

“I guess,” Donna shrugged, trying to shape the ball into a cube.

* * *

The next day, Donna got the picture (and the brownies), as well as four pieces of tack to stick it to the wall. She handed to the guard one of her old photos, so that she wouldn’t have one too many pictures, and looked around her cell, wondering where to put it. In the end, she decided to put it right above her desk, so she could always see it when writing letters. For now, though, she just left it on the table, as she wanted to take it outside to show to the men.

Everyone appreciated the picture, as well as the brownies. They had two layers - the top one without cocoa, and the bottom one with it. The taste was very interesting.

“Is it me or are they kind of bland?” Westfield asked, hurriedly swallowing. They were supposed to be cleaning their own cells, not visiting each other.

“They taste sweet to me,” Donna replied. Her jacket pocket was stuffed full of little pieces wrapped in paper. Donna kept the paper for her own use, and handed out the brownies.

“I guess it’s just me then,” she said, and left. It was almost time to go outside. Donna got dressed and placed the drawing into another jacket pocket. 

The first thing Thedosius said was “Stein has now deemed himself a comedian and Li thinks the administration is trying to hang noodles on our ears.” Donna’s desire to talk about the news evaporated at that.

“Stein?” Donna asked, looking around and slipping a handful of brownies into his pocket, so he could hand them out to the men later. “Noodles?” Two had some very strange proverbs.

Theodosius tucked a strand of white hair under his cap and shoved his hand back into his pocket. “We were talking about Snow. I said that his hypocrisy left a bad taste in my mouth. Stein said that if it did that to everyone, he’d need to brush his teeth every time he talked to us.”

That was actually quite funny. Donna couldn’t help herself, she laughed even though the joke was targeted at her as well. Stein wasn’t usually one for wordplay, so it was a doubly unexpected retort.

“They spent a solid five minutes just laughing,” Theodosius said, sounding very irritated. “As if there’s nothing else to laugh about!” He glared at Stein, who was walking nearby in the company of Prill, Weiss, and Blackstone. They were laughing.

And Dr. Chu seriously expected her to join in? “And what about the noodles?” she asked.

“We were talking about when we’re probably going to be released. Li thinks that there are newspapers that support us, the administration just doesn’t let us read them. I think it’s unlikely, though, we’d have heard about it in any case.” He glanced at her pocket. “What’s that?” he asked.

Donna took out the picture. “Donna’s classmate drew this,” she said, handing it to him. 

Theodosius stared at the picture, and then stared some more. “First noodles, now nettles!” he exclaimed. “I’m hungry now.”

“We just had breakfast.”

Ignoring that point, Theodosius tried to analyze the picture. “Is this some sort of inside joke? What was the person who drew this on? What is this, some sort of motivational poster?”

Hearing that, Wolf, who had been walking closely behind them, hurried to catch up to them and look at the picture himself. “Huh,” he said. “I’ve had nettle soup a few times. It was good.”

“When?” Donna asked.

“Back when I was in Twelve,” he explained. “Our rations didn’t arrive one month because of a train issue, so we were stuck with what we could get from the locals. Some old woman at the black market sold nettle soup for a while, I guess because nettles were in season. Then, all of a sudden, some poacher turned up with a literal deer.” Donna hid her irritation at having to listen, for the millionth time, to Wolf’s story about how he had bought venison off the Mockinjay’s father. “That was the first time we had meat in weeks.” He smiled slightly. “Tasted great. The nettle soup, too. That old woman could really make something out of nothing.”

“That’s nice,” Theodosius muttered. He was still studying the picture. “I’m still not sure what this creature is supposed to be, though.” Donna quickly explained to the two men how that had come about. 

“I wish my classes had been that interesting,” Wolf said. “We just had to sit quietly and take notes. No questions allowed.”

“Same with us,” Donna pointed out. “Before getting here, I had never been able to argue about what a book meant.”

“Before getting here, I never cracked a book open,” Wolf lamented. “If I had, maybe I’d have done things differently.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, slouching imperceptibly. “I’ll get back to my family, and they’ll be so shocked. Hopefully that’s not too far away.”

“Hopefully,” Donna echoed him, taking the picture back from Theodosius and putting it in her pocket. Seizing the chance, she dumped handfuls of brownies into the pockets of the two men. “Do you think they’ll pardon, amnesty, or something else?”

“It would be reasonable to expect that they release the old and the sick first,” Theodosius said. “Out there, they think Aslanov is near death.”

“Nice to know that they know as little about us as we do about them,” Donna grumbled. Aslanov was in better shape than she was. 

“In any case,” Theodosius continued, “that’s an argument most people would agree with. Letting us slowly die in here is an unpopular move.”

Wolf wrapped his scarf tighter around his face as an unpleasant breeze picked up. Donna likewise pulled hers up to cover her face. “They know so little?” Wolf asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d have thought that the guards would have leaked everything.”

“What does your family say?” Donna asked him. What people thought in Two and the Capitol were obviously different things, but the guards seldom talked about the Districts, and then it was about their own families.

“They don’t like you two much,” he said, looking at them apologetically. “They’re willing to stick up for the Peacekeepers, but not you civilians.” That much, Donna already knew. “Other than that, I don’t know anything you don’t.”

Taking responsibility, Donna had discovered, just made the victims of the Games regime even more upset as they demanded to know where that attitude had been just a few years ago. “Far as I can tell,” Theodosius said self-pityingly, “nobody likes us two much.”

“And who’s responsible for that?” Wolf said, with a tinge of clearly detectable sarcasm. He giggled suddenly. “Stein was right.”

“As if you’re any better,” Theodosius snapped.

Wolf looked down on him even though he was a solid ten centimetres shorter. “And who defines that?” he asked, gesturing at the trees. “I am what I am, and I do not claim to be anything else. If someone condemns me for that, let them. I wish my life had turned out differently, but I do not regret anything I said or did of my own volition. You two, though, will look bad no matter what direction you’re looked at from. Nobody likes a traitor.”

“If to say what I said is treason,” Donna said, “then I will bear that mark gladly.”

Stepping slightly away from them, Wolf shook his head. “Well, you two _did_ sell out your fellows just for the chance to grovel some more. I don’t know what I expected.”

“Surely you do not mean to justify the conduct of your fellows,” Theodosius pointed out.

“We followed orders,” Wolf spat. “I see why they hanged the Heads, but why us? I only made lieutenant the month before I was taken into custody! I wasn’t responsible for the firebombing of Twelve, the repressions in Eight, and the massacres of wherever else they tried to pin on me.”

“You don’t accept that your participation in this regime makes you in some way responsible for its crimes?” Theodosius asked.

Wolf sighed. “I’d ask you if you yourself thought such a stupid thing, but the problem is that you do.” He looked at them like Donna had looked at her children when they had refused to understand something obvious. “No, I cannot be responsible for the death of someone when I was given a direct order to kill them. A soldier’s duty is to follow orders, after all. They were the ones going on about command responsibility, and yet they stuck me in here together with Katz and Verdant!”

Overhearing the conversation, a small cluster of former Peacekeepers with short sentences paused for a second to listen, before continuing to discuss Renko’s grandfather’s ninety-fourth birthday. The general hope was that his grandfather would live to see Renko’s release. Given that it would be in two years at the worst, the chances weren’t looking too bad.

“Five journalists arrived to interview him!” Renko bragged. “He’s the oldest person in our village, probably even the entire county. He’s actually visiting me in a few months. It’ll be the first time anyone in the family visits the Capitol - aside from me, of course.” Renko laughed self-deprecatingly. The little cluster kept in walking, Wolf joining them.

“You know,” Donna said, “you’re also pretty good with words. That bit you said to Li - that was awesome.”

Theodosius shrugged. “It’s the truth. He’s a smart man, but as soon as it comes to himself, all that intelligence disappears. I wonder what his psychologist thinks.”

“I wonder what our psychologist thinks about us. Imagine reading the article they’ll release after our release. Aurelius’ and Mallow’s book was hard enough to read, and they had interacted with us much less than our current psychologist.” Donna preferred not to think too hard about what Dr. Chu thought. After all, the poor woman was being paid to pretend to be sympathetic, and that was all that mattered in the end, as her front never broke. 

Theodosius stared off into space. Donna wondered where he was. “That will be something,” he eventually said.

“That it will be,” Donna agreed. They walked in silence for a while. Donna wondered what would happen if Dr. Chu couldn’t take it anymore. It would probably be strange to talk to someone else after years of getting used to Dr. Chu’s style. “What did you think of the news?” she eventually asked once it was obvious Theodosius wasn’t going to continue that conversation. 

The Capitol was going to pay official reparations to the Districts, but the actual amount wasn’t quite finalized yet. “The timing makes no sense,” Theodosius said. “Why only now? And in any case, a lot of the reconstruction was already funded by the Capitol. I think it’s right that they provide compensation to individuals, but to entire Districts? I just don’t see the point.”

“It must have taken a long time to figure things out,” Donna pointed out. “And it seems odd to me, too, but if everyone agrees, then everyone agrees.” They slowed down, carefully walking over a small patch of slippery mud. Her shoes would be so dirty. 

Theodosius made a small gesture in the direction of Oldsmith. “He was going on in the corridor about how the payments are a disgrace. All the former Games functionaries were nodding along.”

That was why Donna seldom talked to the people who had been her colleagues, in a way. “And the former assistants are getting out right when the payments start,” she said with a sigh. “They’ll sabotage our chances of early release if they don’t keep their mouths shut.” The chances of them not saying something inopportune were quite low, however. Between planning trips to an all-you-can-eat BBQ place with family and planning for the depuration hearings that they would have to deal with (at least Donna’s had been carried out in absentia), they also planned what they’d say to the media once they were out. 

“I hope not,” Theodosius grumbled. “If they say the right thing, they’ll help us immensely. If they don’t-” he shrugged. If they said something inflammatory, nobody would leave the Supermax until their sentence was up or they died, as per the administration’s wishes. “I’m going to ask them to pass on a message. It should be a nice symbolic gesture.”

That sounded like a good idea, but there was a flaw in the plan. “You think they’ll be able to remember sixty different messages?” Donna asked. 

“Maybe we could all get together and come up with a message.” Theodosius glanced around, checking to see who was in the vicinity. “We’ve got a few months left, that should be long enough to reach agreement.”

“That could work. Let’s bring it up at work.”

Theodosius nodded. “What _should_ they say?” he asked. “They certainly can’t call for our immediate release, that would be counterproductive.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, fidgeting with the brownies inside. “And I don’t think they’re willing to say that our sentences are just.”

“Maybe leave out that kind of stuff? Just say that everyone is healthy, conditions are fine, and the administration is humane. Anything else I can think of can launch the sort of media controversy we don’t want.” There would be accusations of trying to cover up for some sort of nefarious goings-on, but those sorts of ideas were extremely fringe, and Donna doubted that a bland statement from Groat or Kim could inflame the barely-there spark. After all, there was a sizable segment of the population who would welcome nefarious goings-on.

Theodosius adjusted his scarf, pulling it down under his chin to make it easier to speak clearly. “I’m just worried that nothing they say will change anything. Someone inclined to interpret us a certain way will continue doing so. Still, though, if they were to go on the record as saying that life’s good, that would be something.”

But how much of an impact would that have, in the end? Would they even want to appear publicly in the end, or slink off to be with family as soon as the cameras started flashing? None of them had ever been the targeted focus of the media. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Donna said.

“That we will,” Theodosius agreed. “That we will.” A cold breeze blew, and he pulled his scarf back up.


	43. Decreased Contingent

Kim kept on looking at her hands and then at the guards, over and over and over. Groat looked ready to pass out, as did Westfield, while Novik just looked exhausted. Drape was shooting envious glances at the four women, even though her turn would come in a year. Donna wasn’t sure why she was hovering in her door frame and watching them, but hover and watch she did.

“Just a few more hours, huh?” Kim repeated for the tenth time that day. “Just a few more hours, and I’m out of here.”

Most of the inmates were sitting in their cells with their doors closed, but something made Donna keep on hovering, even though she was completely exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

“I can’t believe it’s already been five years,” Novik sighed.

“Really?” Westfield sounded incredulous. “It felt like an eternity to me.”

Donna couldn’t take it anymore. She went inside her cell and closed the door behind her, shutting out the voices. Her own five-year mark had been the previous month, but she still had twenty more years to go. She sat down on her cot and tried to read a book, but couldn’t focus. The words didn’t stick in her mind. 

Tomorrow, she would go outside, and five of her fellow inmates wouldn’t be there. Donna had never particularly liked any of them, but it still seemed a loss. This year, more of the yard would be allowed to simply grow wild. Maybe they could increase the meadow. There was a sound of doors banging shut, and Donna gulped. They had all said their farewells already, but she couldn’t believe that it was already almost time. Would she ever see them again? 

Time seemed to drag on and on. Why couldn’t this day just end already?

* * *

When Donna heard doors open, she turned over to stare at hers, heart beating madly. She took deep breaths as she listened to footsteps. They drew closer and then receded. Was Theodosius also lying awake as he listened to Mitman leave forever? West would be stuck without her interpreter for a year. Not that long, in the grand scheme of things.

Eventually, somehow, she fell asleep, and woke up the next morning feeling more or less normal. Reluctantly, Donna went about her morning routine. Why was she even so worried? All of them had known it was coming, and indeed, the deaths of Townsend and Rodriguez hadn’t troubled her as much. Was it because she was envious of the former Gamemaker assistants?

The breakfast queue was somber that morning. 

“Fifty-eight,” Grass said glumly. Her eyes were red-rimmed. 

“That we are.” Blatt looked behind her, meeting Drape’s eyes. There was nobody between them now. The queue was noticeably shorter. As the women approached the cart to get their breakfast and newspapers, they all looked noticeably sullen, shooting envious glances at the space between Blatt and Drape where four others had been just the previous day. West kept on running her hand over her face, but then again, she had just lost the one person who could talk freely with her.

When Donna went outside, it became clear that the men were likewise in a terrible mood. “Where’s Hryb?” she asked Theodosius as she looked around the yard. 

“He had a mental breakdown last night.”

They set off down the muddy path, with the wall on one side and bare trees and earth - on the other. Soon, though, planting would begin. “Why am I not surprised?” Donna took her hands out of her pockets, letting them hang by her sides. Hryb had just been released from total solitary, and was still on edge. “What happened?”

“He had a panic attack in the middle of the night,” Theodosius said. “Refused to leave his cell in the morning, refused to have anyone sit with him, even tried to kick out the psychologist.” He shook his head.

“Sounds like Hryb.”

When they got to the farthest corner of the yard, two guards, a woman from Two and a man from Five, called them over. “It’s all over the Web,” the guard from Five was saying. Besides Donna and Theodosius, four others were standing there, listening to the guards’ words. “Check out this photo I printed off.” He took out a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it out.

Donna studied the photo. On one side were the mugshots of the five released people taken six years ago, and on the other side was a group photo that must have been taken that night. They were standing together, though with some distance between each other, and they were wearing the clothes they had been arrested in, which was a size too big for a couple of them. They were all smiling widely, however, as they stood at a bus stop under the bright lights. “Where are they?” Drape asked.

“That’s the bus stop at, uh, around here,” the guard said. 

The guard from Two added, “They had to walk with their families all the way to the bus stop and take a route taxi to the Capitol proper.”

“Ouch,” Donna said. The closest bus stop was called ‘Supermax Prison’, but it was so far away that Donna in her highschool days, as well as many other joggers and hikers, had criss-crossed the forest trails all over the place and barely even caught a glimpse of a guard or a fence. Good thing her family had Livia and Dancer to drive them.

“Yeah,” the guard from Two said. “And on top of that, since two people came for each of them, there weren’t enough seats for everyone. Someone’s lawyer offered to stand, but then they managed to squeeze them in. The route taxi driver nearly had a heart attack when she realized just who was her cargo.”

The guard from Five folded up the paper and shoved it back inside an inner pocket. “Then, they were mobbed by journalists.”

“Even the route taxi driver?” Donna asked, confused.

“Especially the route taxi driver. Everyone wanted to know if they had told her anything interesting.”

“And?” Dimmers spoke for all of them as they leaned in closer around the two guards.

“Apparently, the fare is outrageously high, and Mitman was lording his pensioner discount over everyone.” He was seventy-two, while the others were all in their forties and fifties.

Hatcher looked furious. “They increased the fare? It was already robbery!” 

“Exactly!” Cast agreed. “At least before, I could drive to the cottage. Now I’ll be stuck overpaying for a ride in a dilapidated route taxi with no suspension.” She sighed.

“Actually,” the guard from Five said, “they said the ride was nice and the route taxi was new.”

“That’s incredible,” Hatcher said, sighing in relief. “I can’t believe they finally bought new minivans.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you get a government that isn’t focused on stealing every possible penny out of the budget,” Donna pointed out. 

Dimmers looked uncomfortable, but then again, the Electrical Works he had worked for had never been a bastion of transparency. “Did anything else interesting happen?” he asked the guards.

“Kim said that bus-stop sausages are disgusting, Novik never wants to see a journalist again in her life, Groat just wanted to go home and sleep, and nobody said anything political, if that’s what you’re trying to find out,” said the guard from Two with a small smile. “There were maybe twenty protesters and counter-protesters each, but the police kept them apart easily and they dispersed quickly.”

“Anything else?”

The guard from Five scratched his head. “The administration refused to comment, but everyone expected that. Uh, there’s a petition circulating for your release, but it just set off a storm, so-yeah.” He looked around. “Uh, you should start moving now.”

“A petition?” Donna complained to Theodosius as they resumed walking. “There go our chances of early release this decade.”

Theodosius looked furious. “How can they be so stupid?” he asked a bush. “Isn’t it obvious that when it comes to us, popular opinion doesn’t matter a jot?” He threw his hands in the air for emphasis. “The administration’s not going to release us because a hundred thousand people ask, they wouldn’t even release us if ten million did! Or half the world, for that matter!”

“Exactly!” Donna said. “My lawyer was telling me that he was making some inroads through my former coworkers, but that’s going to go out the window. The government’s not going to pressure the administration when half the country’s up in arms,” she added bitterly.

“You’re pessimistic,” Torres said from behind them. He and Andrews caught up and walked beside them. “I was thinking that if the debate continues in the open, it will show that there’s real support for us.” Andrews nodded.

Theodosius shook his head. “But that’s the thing, there’s no support for us. Did you hear what the guards back there said?” he asked, gesturing with a thumb behind them.

“No.”

Donna and Theodosius quickly recounted what they had said. “It seems that everyone’s trying to forget,” Donna explained, “but when push comes to shove, they really don’t like us. Or maybe they’re just angry at being reminded.” That was also the possibility. The Districts, especially the outer ones, were focused on building a new future and reaping the benefits of the economic miracle, not on the painful past.

Torres, however, was focused on something else. “The route taxi stops so far away?” he asked. “My husband said it’s a brief walk!” He shook his head. 

“I’m just glad my family has friends who can drive us,” Theodosius said. “Even if the route taxis aren’t falling apart at the seams anymore.”

“I think my aunt has a car,” Torres mused. “I’ll have to ask Sextus to borrow hers next time.”

“My wife just takes a taxi,” Andrews said quietly. “But then again, she has a good job, and we don’t have kids.” He shrugged.

“What else did the guards say?” Torres asked. 

“Nothing besides that.”

Torres looked confused. “They didn’t give any interviews?”

Donna shook her head. “Apparently not. Maybe in a few days.”

“Odd. They were going around here making all these plans, and all they want to do now is slink home and pretend the past six years never happened.” He stretched out and ran a hand along the bare branch of an apple tree. “What do you think the protesters were here for?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Theodosius asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “Half of them were for our release, the other half was against it. I wonder how organized this was.”

Donna imagined an entire organization dedicated to preventing her early release. It was not a pleasant image. “Given how much of a pain it is to get here, it probably had to have some organization at least,” she pointed out. “Although, with such low numbers, it’s also possible that a bunch of individuals simply hopped in their cars or into a route taxi and went here on their own.”

“An entire organization just to protest against our release?” Torres asked.

“You mean the administration?” Donna joked, realizing that the phrase covered a lot of ground. The three men chuckled.

“I doubt the administration’s asking people to drop by with signs and posters,” Theodosius pointed out. “I bet they were furious at the upheaval, just for a different reason.”

“Speak for yourself,” Torres said. “I think that the more upheaval, the better. If something’s bad for the administration, there’s got to be a way to make it good for us.”

No matter how Donna looked at the situation, she couldn’t see anything good. Public and especially media attention was bad by default, and she couldn’t find a different way to interpret it.

* * *

“I’m confused,” Donna said to Dr. Chu before the psychologist even sat down. “It just feels strange that we barely even reacted when someone died, but flip out when someone gets released.”

Dr. Chu settled into the chair. “Why do you think that is the case?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we’re just envious.” Donna leaned back against the wall, rolling the teal ball between her fingers. 

“Envious of what?” Dr. Chu prompted.

“Everyone’s going to die eventually,” Donna explained, “but not everyone is going to be released.”

Tapping her pen on her clipboard, Dr. Chu leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the chair back. “Some of your fellow inmates are quite insistent that they’ll be released soon enough.”

“Deep down, though,” Donna admitted, “we know there’s not much of a prospect of that. And in any case, it’s hard to watch them walk out, sentences up.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around her legs. “I’ve got _twenty more years_.” Tears stung her eyes, and Donna tried to wipe them away discreetly. “I’m twenty percent done, but they’re free and doing whatever they want.”

Dr. Chu wrote something down. When she looked up, her face was sympathetic. “What do you think they’re doing?” she asked.

“Right now?” Donna recalled their endless plans. “Eating dinner, probably. With family. And talking about how happy they are that their undeserved punishment is over.” At least they hadn’t said anything inflammatory yet, although that could happen at any point now. “They can go to the grocery store now, and wear whatever they want, and hug their loved ones.”

“And you know that for you, that is still decades away.”

Donna nodded, staring at the ball. “Could be worse,” she said, trying to cheer herself up. “At least I _have_ a release date.”

“That is very different, though,” Dr. Chu pointed out. “There is quite a bit of opposition to letting your fellow inmates die in prison. It will be spun as a humanitarian issue, not a political one. You know that.”

“I doubt that,” Donna said, refusing to consider the possibility. “The political considerations of keeping this place open will outweigh anything.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen. “Do you want that to happen?”

“Of course not!” Donna exclaimed. “I do admit, though, that I don’t like the idea of one of the lifers walking out of here before me, unless they were severely ill.”

“So you’re saying that you want them to leave after you, even though you think it’s impossible?”

Donna shrugged. “Maybe the situation will change.” It wasn’t a very likely prospect. Donna couldn’t imagine the directors unanimously agreeing to let anyone go, not when they couldn’t unanimously agree on how many kilograms of fertilizer they needed to buy.

“But if the situation changes, doesn’t that mean that you won’t serve your entire sentence, which you consider just?”

“If the administration thinks it wants to keep me here, I respect that. If it wants to release me, I likewise respect that.” Donna grasped for an analogy. “It’s like when you fail a test, and you know full well you deserved to fail because you didn’t study, but you still ask the teacher if you can re-write it or make up for it in some other way.”

Dr. Chu wrote that down. “That’s an interesting analogy.” Donna kneaded the ball, and noticed that the seam was looking torn.

“I need a new ball,” she said.

“Here you go.” Dr. Chu took it from her and gave her a light-green one. “This is the last of the colours. Do you want to go through all of them again or is there a specific colour you prefer?”

Donna leaned back against the wall, thinking about it. “I think I liked the teal one the most,” she eventually said.

“Great,” the psychologist said. “I’ll make sure to put a few teal balls into my bag next time we see each other.”

* * *

The next day, the five released ones were temporarily forgotten as a much more important issue rocked the Supermax.

“Two weeks?” Blatt demanded of a guard. “Why do you need two weeks to repair the water heater?” It was bright and sunny, and Blatt, who was holding her cap in her hands, had to squint against the glare.

“Watch your tone, Female Eleven!” snapped the guard, a lanky woman from Thirteen. “It is not your place to question the administration!”

Blatt looked ready to fire back, but wisely backed down. “Of course, guard,” she said blandly, clutching her cap in a fist. “I just want to know why it will take so long to repair it.”

“The administration will have to hire workers, check them for reliability, and only then start repairs,” the guard explained in a milder tone. “Plus, the heater is so old, they’ll probably just replace the entire thing.”

Donna wasn’t looking forward to cold showers. “If I get a heart attack from the freezing water,” she complained to Theodosius, “it will be entirely their fault.” He laughed.

Blatt continued walking, and Donna and Theodosius could hear what she and Grass were saying. “I find the timing suspicious,” Grass said. “All of a sudden, as soon as someone’s getting released, things start happening. Did you notice that the news about the reparations was tucked in at the very end?” It had been hard to miss, given that half the articles in all of the newspapers except _The World_ had been blacked out. The article about reparations had been squeezed between a domestic murder and the lauching of an international initiative to eradicade smallpox.

“It’s clear as anything they’re trying to push it through while everyone’s distracted,” Grass said, waving a hand in a vague gesture. “What I don’t see is how the water heater fits into all this. Perhaps they’re just trying to distract us.”

The first reparations payments had been made the previous day, to the vocal displeasure of a large percentage of the Capitol. If the timing had been calculated to coincide with the releases, it had been a terrible idea, as the two points of contention were like two colliding hurricanes. On the other hand, though, not that many people were involved in the polemics, as far as Donna could tell. The sort of people who kept up with the news would have been aware regardless, but the sort who didn’t did appear to be distracted by the media frenzy over the released Supermaxers. Donna had no idea if it was better in the long run to combine two debates into one large one. “I wonder how long it will take everyone to calm down,” she wondered.

“Until the next big thing happens,” Theodosius said cynically. “Or until they realize their outrage won’t change anything.”

“I’m curious to see the breakdown of how many people have what opinion.” Hopefully, one of the guards would smuggle that in soon enough. “I’m not quite sure how to reconcile the fact that a lot of people in the Capitol disagree, and the fact that not that many people actually care about this. Does it mean that they say they disagree when pressed to give an opinion, but don’t participate in the actual arguing?”

“Probably.” Theodosius pulled his cap lower to shield his eyes from the sun. It wasn’t exactly warm, but just the sight of the sun made Donna feel better. “It’s like how all of us disapprove of how long it will take to fix the heater, but if the guards were to ask us, we’d say we don’t care.” Donna chuckled.

“Isn’t that the other way around? We disapprove, but say we don’t care. The people in the Capitol, though, don’t particularly care, but they still seem to whip up a storm at any chance.”

“Maybe they’re compensating for seventy-five years of the NCIA,” Theodosius suggested.

Donna chuckled, even though there was nothing funny about it. “I wouldn’t blame them for that,” she said, remembering the still-terrified witnesses at the trial. “Not one bit.”

* * *

“I don’t care what the mayor says!” Kadka exclaimed. “I still think it’s an outrage! First they robbed the entire Capitol of everything they could carry and some things they couldn’t, and now we pay them extra on top of it!”

“It’s compensation for the seventy-five years of robbery and murder we subjected them to,” Theodosius explained, not for the first or tenth time.

“Do you disagree?” Donna needled the older man.

Kadka fixed her with an icy stare. “Whatever excesses that may have happened, punishing the entire Capitol is rank hypocrisy on their part.”

“Punishing?” Donna repeated with a mocking tone. “The entire Capitol? Who, then, in your opinion even came up with this idea, if not the Capitol?” She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The Capitol?” Kadka spat. “It’s the ones who were foisted onto the Capitol, not the ordinary people! And in response to your question,” he said, stepping forward and pointing at her, “if they love Thirteen so much, they should have stayed there, instead of waltzing back in and being gifted the Capitol on a silver platter.”

Donna couldn’t resist the temptation. “They were elected, Mr. Kadka.”

Kadka threw his hands into the air and stalked off to complain to Nerr, who was trying to oil the wheelbarrow.

“Nice one,” Theodosius whispered to her. “Serves him right. If journalists ever got a hold of him, they’d walk away convinced we’re a bunch of diehard revanchists.”

They reached the shed and Theodosius went inside, quickly coming back with the box of seeds. It was too dark inside to read the labels, so they crouched by the entrance and went through the small packets and unlabelled paper envelopes, looking for the grasses. This afternoon, they were going to plant grasses on a few of the more distant patches, followed by a few rosehip bushes once the seeds arrived. “Found it!” Theodosius exclaimed, holding up a large packet. He handed it to Donna and dashed inside the shed to put the box back. Donna stood up and put the seeds in her pocket, and once Theodosius returned, they set off down the path.

“Shame to just let the yard grow wild,” Donna said, “but I suppose there’s a limit to how much we can do single-handedly.”

“Exactly. The administration’s not trying to kill us, they’re trying to give us something to do.” Theodosius pushed up his sleeves slightly, even though it wasn’t nearly warm enough for that in Donna’s opinion. “I guess that as the years go on, less and less of the yard will be cultivated,” he said sadly.

Donna looked around the yard. “Well, if we keep on planting trees and bushes, it’ll be quite a park by the time we’re out of here.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better about all that stuff going on outside?” Theodosius asked, turning to her. “Because it’s not working. You know, I used to wish before that my kids could grow up already and become easier to deal with. But now, I’d replace Cynthia as the stay-at-home parent in a heartbeat.”

“Same,” Donna said sadly. “Octavius is going to be turning _eight_ this year! Eight! I can’t even imagine it!” 

Theodosius ran a hand through his hair. “Me neither. Primus is going to be fifteen in just a few weeks. I barely recognized him last week!” Their oldest sons were more than halfway done with their first year of highschool. 

“Same. It’s like every single photo is a photo of completely different people,” Donna said, thinking about the photographs tacked up around her cell. “Well, except for Donna,” she conceded. “And my parents.”

“And the cat,” Theodosius pointed out.

“And the cat.” Inky the cat was a gigantic blob of black fur. Fortunately, he had stopped growing at the expected time, but not before attaining the approximate dimensions of a medium-sized rug. “I was worried for a while that the next family photo would feature the cat holding Laelia instead of the other way around, but she seems to have caught up nicely.” Her youngest daughter would be ten soon.

Theodosius laughed. “Caught up? She’s tiny.”

“Well, her parents aren’t exactly tall, either,” Donna pointed out. “Donna used to be tall, but she stopped growing early.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about that,” Theodosius said as he tripped over an uneven bit of ground. They were walking in the narrow lanes between the vegetable beds now. He steadied himself and added, “Though I fear I’ve doomed Primus to several years of being a beanpole.”

“I wonder how my parents will manage to blame the dramatic increase in the food budget on Dem,” Donna joked.

“He’s the one who invited Cynthia and the kids to stay indefinitely.”

“No, that would be tantamount to complaining about their presence. They wouldn’t do that.” They reached the future lawn. “Wait, did we add compost?”

“Xu and Zelenka did it yesterday,” Theodosius said. 

Donna stared at the bare ground. This really wasn’t the best time of year to plant grass, but it wouldn’t be too big of a problem if it took a long time to germinate. She took the seeds out of her pocket and opened up the packet carefully, making sure not to spill any. The two of them walked up and down, scattering the seeds. After they were done, they had to haul a large bag of soil all the way across the yard to cover the seeds with a centimetre-thick layer.

“Why are all these bags so heavy?” Theodosius complained. “Can’t they make smaller ones that are actually possible to pick up and carry?”

“Maybe the company thinks that Li is an average person.”

“If Li is average, I don’t even want to imagine what above average looks like.”

“Doesn’t he say that he didn’t stick out among the other men in the Death Squad?” Donna asked, readjusting her grip on the sack. They were each holding it by two corners. “Maybe that’s who the company thinks uses their products.”

Theodosius chuckled. “With all the rumours about how Stonesmith is living on a farm in South America, maybe it is.”

South America? Well, at least Stonesmith would fit in there. The rumour mill had picked up all over again after the extradition of some minor Games functionary Donna had never heard of from China, and one of the guards had told Donna in all seriousness that Stonesmith was also there, even though anyone with functioning eyes could tell that Stonesmith would look very out of place in rural China. “Maybe they’ll extradite her, too,” Donna said. “That is, if she is even there.”

“Strange that the other countries don’t seem to be doing anything,” Theodosius mused. “I’d have thought that they’d pounce on the chance to do something, after all that humanitarian aid they sent.”

Donna’s hands were slippery, and she struggled to re-grip the sack without dropping it. “Yeah. If there’s so much rumours, why not send a couple of people to check on them? I mean, someone struggling to speak the language in a small town is going to draw a lot of attention, even if they look normal.” That was how the man hiding in China had been caught - he had stayed in a large city for a while and pretended to be from a different English-speaking country, but in a village, curious locals had eventually realized that his story didn’t add up, and one of them eventually had the idea to check if he looked like someone from the wanted list.

“I’m reading a book about China right now,” Theodosius said. “Maybe you should have run off there,” he added in a joking tone. “You’d fit right in, and every country needs engineers.”

“Maybe I’d fit in, but Dem and the kids wouldn’t,” Donna pointed out, rolling her eyes even though Theodosius couldn’t see it. “And I don’t actually look like them, not exactly. They’d notice the difference.” She craned her neck to see how much longer they had to walk. Not that much. “What’s the book about?”

“The twentieth century. Koy recommended it to me.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it is. I can’t wait till I get there.” Theodosius huffed and adjusted his grip.

“Where are you now?”

“Southern One. A little bit more, and I’m hopping on the ferry to South America.”

“Tell Stonesmith Li says hi.”

Theodosius laughed.


	44. To Start

Renko stepped out of the building and immediately made a beeline for the taps, where they were waiting for him. “How did it go?” Trotman asked.

“Awesome,” Renko said. He was smiling, which they seldom did after visits. “I haven’t seen my grandpa in decades! He’s the same as ever, except older. Looks like a shriveled mushroom, honestly, but I bet he’s still smacking people with his cane left and right.” 

“And?”

Renko crouched down, leaning against the pipe. “The family’s fine. He kept on going on about stuff I already know from letters, though, so that was a little bit annoying. He just kept on talking and talking and talking and I couldn’t get in a word.” He looked jittery.

“That’s the opposite of my family,” Donna said mournfully. “I have to practically drag every word out of them.”

“Well, it was annoying when he started going on and on about my cousin who got married two years ago,” Renko said with a shrug. “I was like, Grandpa, how am I supposed to find anyone in here?” Everyone laughed at that. “He thinks that being pansexual makes finding a partner twice as easy.” He rolled his eyes.

“Eh,” Trotman said, “I’m the opposite of you and my family used to harangue me about having kids. I suppose it is possible I find a romantic partner, but do you really think they’ll let me adopt a child?” She shook her head, irritated. To Trotman, her sentence was an outrage.

“That’s family for you,” Song said sympathetically. “At least my aunt served, so she could tell them what is what.”

Renko shifted from his heels to his toes. His hands were shaking. “Yeah, well, my uncle served, which didn’t stop Grandpa from asking. Plus, he doesn’t understand what’s going on here, so he kept on asking questions that made the director from Twelve look like she wanted to drop dead this instant. It was actually kind of funny, especially because she let him keep on talking. I guess it was because she could see that he didn’t quite understand? Or maybe he was just messing with the guards because he could. He’s a Two patriot-”

“You mean revanchist,” Donna corrected him. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Renko brushed her off. “In any case, he’s a patriot, and on top of that he was a teenager during the First Rebellion, so he’s super-patriotic, not like our generations. He’s still angry at Two’s Rebels from the _First_ Rebellion. But then again, he was actually in Tashen’s brigade, helping to put them down, so that makes sense. And he also sincerely thought the Games were a good thing, so I guess that’s just Grandpa for you. And then he tried to ask me what you all think about everything, so the guards told him to change the topic, so he just shouted at them for a while and then went back to talking about how my cousin just adopted her first child.”

“Wow,” Strata said.

“Yeah. He also keeps on telling everyone that I’m a martyr for the cause. I was like, thanks, Grandpa, but first, I’m alive, second, I’m getting released in less than two years, and third, it was only a job for me, not something ideological. He didn’t listen, though, started going on and on about duty and honour, as if I don’t know about it.” Renko rolled his eyes and rubbed his hands together. “Wow, I’m still screwed up. I thought I’d get a panic attack when waiting for him to arrive.”

“He shouted at the guards?” Theodosius asked. “How did they react?”

Renko laughed. “It was really funny. They just sat there with these stony faces. Nice to see someone get the best of them for a change.” 

“That it is,” Katz said, nodding. “That it is.”

“What else did your grandpa say?” Donna asked eagerly.

“Well, he also wore his dress uniform from way back when, complete with medals.” The former Peacekeepers nearly fell over laughing. “Other than that, normal stuff. Went on about how the quarry was going.” Renko had spent his childhood quarrying granite. “Nothing new there, either, except that there were no fatalities the past year at all. Oh, and my parents finally got running water in their house.”

“Good for them,” Katz said, teary-eyed from laughing. Donna had to admit that the mental image of one of the directors popping in and being confronted by a nonagenarian in a dress uniform from his paramilitary days was funny. “I remember when I was little, I’d have to fill buckets with snow in the winter, because the outdoor pump froze over. Took so long. Not to mention how cold it was.”

“I’m so glad we’re getting hot water today,” Renko said. “I don’t want to have to get shaved with cold water ever again.” He shuddered.

“Same.” At least Donna didn’t have to worry about that. “I just want a normal, warm shower.”

Renko grinned nervously. “Not too long until that.”

* * *

That afternoon, Donna practically rubbed her hands together in anticipation as she shivered in the chilly air and waited for the water to heat up. She had opened the tap carefully and was now touching the stream of water with a finger, feeling it slowly get warmer and warmer. It reached the proper temperature way earlier than ever before. Donna stepped under the stream, savouring the warmth that poured over her. No more shivering and hasty scrubbing! Now this was a proper shower. 

“Finally, some warmth,” Grass said. The other women echoed her. Now that four of them had been released, four of the spots were filled with Drape, Leta, Fabula, and Kremser. It was a bit of a readjustment the first time, but by now, Donna was used to their presence. Drape dropped the tiny sliver of soap she was using and was unable to pick it up again, as it kept on slipping out of her hands. Everyone laughed at that, even the guard. 

It was with reluctance that the fifteen women turned off their taps and went to dry off and get dressed. The air was downright freezing in comparison to the hot water. Donna shivered as she toweled her hair dry. At least she had something else to look forward to today. She would be getting reading glasses. While the idea of having bad vision wasn’t much of a prospect, Donna just wanted to be able to read properly. She’d have to ask her parents what magnification they used. They had both started wearing reading glasses around her age, but they never wore them to the visits, so it was probably still just for reading.

After dinner, Donna read a book and waited for the orderly to show up. She was surprised to see an unfamiliar woman walk into her cell fifty pages later. “Hello,” she said in a distinct Six accent. “I’m Tia, the new orderly.” She handed Donna a glasses case, which Donna opened, and nearly fell off the cot when she saw the contents. The glasses were cushioned in thin paper.

Hesitantly, Donna took the paper and shoved it in her bra. “Thank you,” she said. “Is this just a one-time thing?” she added quietly, even though nobody would be able to hear them.

“Not at all,” Tia said. “Every morning, there will be more in the case.” They got their glasses in the morning so they could read the newspapers, though they couldn’t take them outside unless the doctors said so, and handed them back in the evenings. 

“Thank you,” Donna whispered.

Tia smiled slightly. “Now, let’s see how these glasses are.” Donna put them on, and was amazed to see the writing on the page in front of her become clearer. Tia took out several sheets of paper from her bag and had Donna read from them until she pronounced the glasses perfect. She then pressed the button above Donna’s cot, waited for a guard to come open the door, and left with a small wave.

After that unexpected gift, Donna had to force herself to continue to read. When she finally reached for the book of extra-hard sudokus and her pen, it was like a mountain was falling off her shoulders. She froze, pen dangling from her hand. What to write?

Donna remembered something Theodosius had told her, as well as a few of her plans. Now that she had a steady supply of paper, she could write her memoirs. She hadn’t expected to be able to do so at this point, but why not use the chance she had been given? Donna wrote her diary entry, as well as a note to Livia and Dancer explaining the mass of paper they would soon find themselves dealing with. Then, she began to write. She started with that fateful day when Snow had informed her that she was to be the new Head Engineer. She recalled the conversation well enough, but she soon ran into an unexpected problem. 

No matter how much she replayed the day in her mind, she could not remember a single thing about it aside from who had said what. Donna wracked her brains for a while before realizing that she could simply have her secretary check it for her. _[Insert day and weather here]_ , she wrote. Then, she wrote about everyone’s reactions to it, from the media to Dancer. Donna briefly considered writing about what Dem had thought before deciding against it. She didn’t want to drag him into this as well.

Dancer had been convinced that it had all been a plot to set her up for failure and have her removed. Donna was still sure he had been over-cautious. While it was obvious that a lot of people had stood to benefit from her failure, she simply couldn’t imagine Snow allowing something that could endanger the success of the Games to happen. While corruption and transport issues had always been a problem, Donna had never failed to meet deadlines, though there had been some very close calls. Everyone had known that the Games must go off without a hitch, or their heads would roll. Donna wrote about a particularly headache-inducing incident, when during the early phase of the construction of the Quarter Quell arena, several Capitol labourers had tried to steal a Peacekeeper boat and defect, but they had been shot while attempting to escape, the only time that that phrasing had been rightfully used. Fortunately Donna had not been present there at the time, but Snow had still been very unimpressed at the fact that District people had seen Capitol people killed. 

His words were still stuck in her memory. Snow had explained the fact that the Districts needed to be reminded that the Capitol was above them in every way as if he was talking to a child. Donna still had no idea why he hadn’t just used District engineers instead. A lot of them had been employed already, why not replace the Capitol workers with them completely? And if it was due to the lower quality of education that even the elite in Three had received, why not improve it?

After several paragraphs of such musings, Donna realized that it was pointless to look for sense in Snow’s arguments. Back then they had seemed the height of sense, an accurate justification of a necessary evil. Now they just looked like pseudologic, pithy phrases about hope and fear held together with a deep and irrational hate of the people who had been unfortunate enough to be born in certain places.

_At the end of the day,_ Donna wrote, _what does it even matter what sort of justifications we used? We were murdering children. Worse, we were forcing children to murder each other. The more we dressed it up, the more despicable this inhuman pageant became._

Donna reread the paragraph and scratched out a few of the sentences.

_...were used? Children were being murdered. Worse, children were being forced to murder each other. The more it was dressed up, the more despicable this inhuman pageant became._

Satisfied, she went through the first year in her position. 

_The higher I climbed, the more rumours I heard, but it never crossed my mind that the Victors were being abused and trafficked. I know this will sound strange, as many defectors from a much lower position in society had figured it out on their own [insert examples here, preferably someone well-known], but I had been unwilling to believe that such a thing was happening. Perhaps it was my inner sense of what I was doing desperately trying to pretty up the picture for me, as being confronted with direct proof of things I did not then consider ‘just how the world worked’ would have broken me. The fact that I am happily married probably also played a role. Theodosius Coll was as shocked as I was to discover the truth, but the codefendants of mine who had been the sort to do such a thing all insisted that it was an open secret. In reality, if someone had told you of this, it was because you were the sort of person who would then get in touch with Snow and arrange an appointment for yourself._

That was one issue dealt with. Donna elaborated some more, before tackling the topic of the forced labourers. Good thing she had picked her promotion as a starting point for now. She could get all the difficult things out of the way first and then deal with the less controversial but more painful topic of her early life. For now, she decided, she’d leave out Dem and the kids as much as possible.

Rereading her words, Donna wondered what Livia and Dancer would make of all this. The part about the forced labourers read like an argument between her and Dr. Chu. _Just type this up and add the bits in the square brackets, I’ll clear up the ambiguous parts when I get out,_ she instructed her friend and her secretary.

Donna continued writing, and ran out of paper very soon afterwards. Well, there was always tomorrow. Donna carefully folded up the paper, placed it in her glasses case, and began to work on a sudoku.

* * *

Several days later, a note arrived from Dancer. _I’ve started typing up your pages and sorting them by time period. Could you please write a little bit neater? Livia can’t read it, and I don’t have as much time as I’d like to spend on them. I know you can do it, I’ve read your official letters :)_

Donna sighed. Couldn’t he tell that if she wrote any larger, she wouldn’t be able to fit in as much information on the paper? The official letters were not only subject to a strict word count, but the censors also sent them back if something was even slightly unclear. On the back of the paper, she wrote a reply.

_There’s a limit to how much paper I can have hidden on me at once. I can try to write neater, but I can’t even write this at the table. Also, could you please ask my parents about their background, but subtly?_

She was going back and forth between her early life and the last few years. Donna had decided to stop the memoirs at the sentencing for now, and reconstruct that from her diary entries when she got out. Another part of her life, one she simply couldn’t bring herself to write about yet, was the years she had spent as an ordinary Games engineer. Trying to recall those early days was simply too painful, and she struggled to write about the motivations that she had had back then. Even with Dr. Chu, she constantly found herself flip-flopping, and Dr. Chu wasn’t there when Donna wrote. Maybe later, once she wrote about everything else.

_When I was admitted into state school, my parents could not have been prouder. Back then, the educational system had been yet another way to divide the haves from the have-nots. Those of us in the grey area between the two had been forced to jump through endless hoops, but I, as the child of a not very well-connected engineer and a stay-at-home parent, found it easier than most. While my parents were unable to pull strings to get me admitted, they did not have to go into crushing debt to pay for my tuition when I aced the exams and got in, though they did have to take out loans._

_Those years were the beginning of the pathological desire to please that characterized my entire career. Perhaps it started out when I first took pride in the fact that my parents were happy with my achievements, but not with my brother’s lack thereof. State school just made it worse, with how we were constantly told that everything we did needed to please the government. Not that public school was any better, but at least there, the children weren’t being groomed for influential positions in society. By the time I was applying to university, I already was entertaining ambitions of working for the Games, despite a vague awareness that my parents were some of the so-called “bleeding hearts”, people who never spoke out against the regime directly but disapproved of the Games and other things that we now call human rights abuses._

Donna remembered an incident back in grade eight. Her school, due to its small size, had been from grade seven to grade twelve, and fourteen-year-old Donna had once personally witnessed an outright protest by a few older students.

_When I was in grade eight, one day there were anti-Games leaflets posted up on the inside of every bathroom stall door. [insert date here, someone’s got to remember it] I remember that my first feeling was an extreme irritation with whoever had done it. Now, of course, I understand that I didn’t want to be confronted with the truth. Like the small children who were not told that the Games were about children dying for real, I shied away from what I did not want to think about. That’s a bad analogy. After all, many of us had grown up sincerely not knowing the reality of the Games. At that point I knew the truth, had an instinctive dislike of thinking about it, and still did not connect the dots between my discomfort and what the pictures on the leaflets showed. [insert leaflet, or at least a similar one]_

_Nobody talked about the leaflets, not that I can remember. When several older students stopped showing up for class, we pretended that they had dropped out. I don’t even remember their names. All I know is that one of them had worn their hair in a large puff dyed every colour of the rainbow. [we can footnote the names later, don’t worry about digging in the archives right now this instant]_

If only she had more paper! Donna tried to write as concisely as possible, but she couldn’t make herself stick to point-form notes. She bounced around from year to year, writing out random snippets she had no idea how she would stick together into a coherent narrative. So far, though, she was focusing on her highschool years. She had already written about her early childhood, as there wasn’t much she remembered and most of it would need to be context she’d have to ask her parents about. Next, she would write about university, then write out in detail about her years as Head Engineer and the trial, and then she’d hopefully be ready to deal with the six years she had spent working on the Games before that.

A brief flash of memory came back to her, and Donna squeezed in a brief note in the non-existent margin. _Somewhere out there is a photo of me, Talvian, and Krechet with our spouses standing behind each other. It needs to be included._ The three of them were of very different heights and had spouses of the same height of themselves, resulting in a very amusing photograph Talvian had managed to suppress until Meersten had dug it up from somewhere before the trial. Apparently, some assistant’s assistant had printed it off and hidden it at the bottom of a drawer at home.

* * *

“Glasses case?” Theodosius whispered to her as they slowly watered the cabbage under the watch of only the sentry in the guard tower. No other guards were in earshot, not if they whispered. “You know, I’ve been having back pain recently. You think maybe if I ask the orderly to give me a massage, he’ll fetch paper for me?”

“You have back pain?” 

Theodosius tipped the watering can slightly, and a little bit of water fell onto the cabbages. “I think I pulled something while picking up a sack of fertilizer. I’ve been stretching, but it’s not helping much. Maybe a massage would help.”

“Lower back?” Donna asked sympathetically. Her own neck was stiff on one side, making her unable to rotate her head fully. It was unpleasant to watch her body fall apart right in front of her eyes.

“No, on the side of my upper back.” He rubbed at the afflicted area with his free hand. “It only hurts when I move my arm in certain ways.”

“Is the orderly even qualified to give massages?” Donna asked. “I remember they brought in someone from the outside for Hope’s leg.”

“One of them is. He’s new.”

Now that was interesting. “The one who gave me paper is also new. Maybe they had a mass firing.”

Theodosius looked at the cabbage as if expecting it to explain the intricacies of the Supermax hiring policy. “You think the new ones will be inclined to be more sympathetic?”

“Maybe. On one hand, odds are they don’t have as many personal experiences under the Games regime, but on the other, not having them means they’re more likely to come inspired by very categorical family stories.” Donna paused, thinking about it. “How much of a choice is it to come here? We’re not in the actual prison system, after all.”

“Well, we know they’re very carefully screened,” Theodosius began. “Odds are, if someone said they didn’t want to work here, they wouldn’t be allowed to, for fear of them not doing their job properly.” He poured the last drops of water out of his can; Donna still had a little bit left.

“We should just ask the orderlies. If they’re willing to act as couriers, they’ll be willing to tell us something as simple as that.” Donna moved slightly to reach some more cabbages.

Water fell onto the dry ground and was instantly absorbed. It was not hot, but not exactly warm, either. “True. What are you writing about now?”

“Right now? My highschool years.”

Theodosius chuckled. “Can you imagine future historians poring over your account of teenage drama and trying to gain a greater understanding of society back then?”

“Honestly,” Donna said, “I don’t even know how to write those sorts of things. It’s important to explain how I got married, but I don’t want to drag Dem into everything, and especially not the kids.”

Turning over the watering can to shake out the last few drops, Theodosius nodded. “And also, how are you even supposed to write about people who are still alive? Imagine if Slice read your book and decided it was inaccurate.”

“I’m going to check everything I can once I get out,” Donna pointed out. “And do you really think she’ll even want to read it? None of the released ones have said more than a few words about the Supermax.” They had called on the government to review the sentences and said that conditions were “perfectly satisfactory”, which probably came across as a blatant lie given that the silence rule was still officially in place.

“Yes, but Slice is in a normal prison.” Theodosius shifted the empty can from one hand to the other and reached up to rub at his upper back. “The reason I brought her up is because at breakfast, a guard showed me a photo of her. Turns out she’s participating in a work release program.”

Envy, furious and burning, coursed through Donna. “That’s not fair!” she complained, pouring water onto a particularly small cabbage. “Why does she get to earn money and leave prison every day? She sat right behind me when the prosecution lectured about the propaganda machine!”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Theodosius agreed glumly. “She’s a journeyperson carpenter, just finished her apprenticeship recently. She earns sixteen dollars an hour! Sixteen!” His voice rose to the point where the closest nearby guard could hear. “Just because she was sentenced by a Depuration tribunal and not the IDC,” he added in a softer voice.

It was actually worse. “Even the people sentenced in an IDC trial went into the normal system if their sentences were short enough,” Donna pointed out. “They’ve all been released by now, though.” They had also all been gathered in one prison complex, out of a desire to minimize fights with the general prison population, who tended to be lower-class people with a rather low opinion of the former elite. Slice had managed to fall through the cracks, as she had been found guilty by a Depuration tribunal. 

“We’re in our sixth year,” Theodosius said with a sigh. “Only the serious criminals are still behind bars. Even Slice gets out in less than three.” Donna imagined the former propagandist working as a carpenter in some suburb, and chuckled. “What is it?”

“Imagine we get out of prison, hire carpenters to fix the roof of my parents’ house, and Slice shows up.”

Theodosius laughed out loud. “That would be amazing. I see the guard who showed me the photo,” he said, pointing. “You want to go take a look?”

“Of course!” In any case, their watering cans were empty. Theodosius led them towards the guard, a stocky man from Two who was leaning against a tree and reading a book.

“Excuse me, guard, I was wondering if she could see the photo, too,” he said.

The guard closed his book and put it in an inner pocket. “Of course,” he said. A hint of a smile darted across his face as he took out a piece of paper. The photos and articles were always printed, as none of the guards ever took out their phones in the presence of inmates. Donna took the photo, and looked at her former codefendant.

The first thing she noticed was that Slice’s braids were back. Donna thought of her own buzz cut and felt a stab of envy. She wore a light-grey uniform with no numbers, only a small logo on the right shoulder and thigh that was impossible to make out on such a small photo but was probably the name of the prison she was in. Slice had an ID clipped to her shirt, and was holding a clipboard and a pencil. Donna felt another stab of envy as she thought of the flexible pen she was forced to write with. “She looks good,” she had to admit. 

Donna vaguely remembered that Slice had been an athlete before her arrest, but during the trial, she had wasted away like the rest of them (except Talvian). Now, though, she looked to be back in shape. Donna felt envious all over again. She herself hadn’t been in shape since highschool.

“Do you have more information?” Theodosius asked. “Maybe something you didn’t want to say in front of the warden?”

The guard nodded as he took the photo back and put it in his pocket. “A friend of mine took the photo. Everyone seems to have forgotten her.” It was probably unhealthy to feel so envious of someone. “I couldn’t even read up on her specifically, there’s nothing. I did read up on how the system works. She joined the work release program after a certain time period of good behaviour. Since she was convicted of hate speech and crimes of incitement, she probably has to attend certain classes where they, uh, depurate her. With her level of education, she’s probably teaching classes. She watches the news every day, has access to an actual gym, and can hug her family members when they come to visit.” He looked at them sympathetically.

“That sounds amazing,” Theodosius sighed. “I wish I was in a normal prison. Even if it meant people stabbing each other every day in front of my eyes. I just want someone to call me by my name.”

“You are called by your name,” the guard said. “Until you’re released, your name is Male Fifteen.”

“To think that if the judges had decided differently, Slice would have had the nine painted on her back,” Donna muttered darkly. “Though, of course, it was obvious she was the least guilty one of us.” 

Theodosius was still digesting the guard’s last statement, so it took him a while to respond. “Although, maybe in a normal prison everyone would want to stab me. Maybe it’s safer here,” he said in a joking tone.

“Half the people here want to stab you,” Donna played along, “they just don’t have the knives.” In a more serious tone she asked the guard, “How does Slice get along with the other inmates?”

“No idea. I told you, there’s nothing out there on Slice. Since she’s on work release it means she has no disciplinary issues, but for all I know she’s targeted. And in any case, violence in prisons has gone down recently, now that the reforms have been put into place.” The guard glanced around. “Go on now, there’s nothing else.”

Donna and Theodosius made a beeline for Best and Verdant to tell them the news. “Hearing that,” Best said after they were done explaining, “I do not understand how they can keep us in these conditions.”

“It’s because we’re outside the purview of the system,” Verdant said confidently. He and Best were both holding canes, though they were barely leaning on them as they stood. “The administration does what it wants to us.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Donna argued. “Look at how much conditions have changed here since the beginning.”

“Yes, but compare us to Slice!” Best insisted. “ _She_ works outside the prison, watches television, and is called by her name. _We_ work for free in here, can consider ourselves lucky to receive newspapers that are mostly blacked out, and the administration calls us by numbers.”

The rest of the “key criminals” reacted likewise to the news. “The contrast is, frankly, unacceptable,” Grass said. “Look at all the privileges she gets for good behaviour, when any sort of improved conditions for us hinge on the unanimous consent of the directors. They’ve found a way to exclude us from the new model they’ve implemented because they consider us as something else entirely.”

Blatt put it in more succinct terms. “They’re doing to us what the NCIA and Peacekeepers did to them. Vengeance, pure and simple.” She upended her bucket over the compost pile.


	45. Plans Made

Why was her daughter so gloomy? Donna glanced at her cheat sheet, wondering what to start with. Theodosius had suggested to her that she write conversation topics beforehand, and he had gotten the idea from Hryb of all people. So far, it wasn’t helpful. Donna couldn’t bring herself to speak the words written on the page.

“Congratulations,” she eventually said. 

“Thanks,” her daughter said with a shrug. 

Donna remembered that she herself had not been particularly happy after finishing school. “No, really,” she insisted, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. Her daughter looked so sad, sitting there, and she couldn’t even reach out to hug her. “You did amazing. You should be proud of yourself.”

Her daughter ran her hands through her hair. It was very short, but elegantly cut, not at all like her own buzz cut. “I haven’t done anything yet,” she said, tugging at a few strands. “Now I’ve got uni to worry about.”

“You’ve done so much!” Could that sad young woman be the excitable twelve-year-old Donna had left behind? Little Donna had been twelve during that last visit before the sentencing, and now she had finished grade twelve. Lars had been nine, and now he had just finished his first year of highschool. Time truly was flying by. “I don’t know anyone who could have improved like you had. I’m so proud of you!”

“I guess.” Her daughter stared at her hands. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe you’ll be starting university in the autumn,” Donna sighed. “Time flies. Soon enough, even Octavius will be graduating from school.”

“That’s still ten years away.”

Donna sighed again. “It has already been six.”

Her daughter looked awkward. “Um, Lars is upset he didn’t get over ninety percent in everything,” she said, trying to change the topic.

Since everyone’s report cards were on Donna’s list of topics, she eagerly seized the opportunity. “What did he get?” she asked.

“His average is ninety-three, but he got eighty-eight in history.”

That was a surprise. “In _history_? But he loves history! Is his teacher really that strict?” A few months ago, her son had complained about how his history teacher was amazing but graded very harshly, which ruined the entire class.

Her daughter nodded. “Nobody got above an eighty-five for their final essay.” She made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t get why he frets so much. It’s grade nine. It’s not even his fault. His average is above ninety. What’s there to complain about?”

Donna wished she could give the teacher a piece of her mind, but there was no chance of that. “Tell Lars that I’m very proud of him for doing so well,” she said. “Remind him that only your average and prerequisites matter, alright? How did the others do?”

“Aulus got straight A’s, and Laelia and Octavius got mostly A’s with some B’s,” her daughter recited in a mechanical voice. The three youngest had just finished grades six, four, and two respectively. 

“That’s very nice.” There was an awkward pause. “Are you doing anything special?”

“Dad’s taking Aulus to the library next,” her daughter replied. “Well, and me, too, since I’ll be in the car.”

“Who’s driving?” Dem technically had his license but he hated driving, and in any case he seldom had access to a car but no driver.

“Aunt Shetkovi.” 

“That’s nice.” If Donna remembered correctly, it was a Sunday today, and thus Livia didn’t have to go to work. “What books are you getting?”

“Aulus wants something about technology, and I’m going to look for some modern literature.”

“Tell me if you find something interesting, I might want to read it myself.” Donna didn’t read as much modern literature, but trying something new sounded like a good idea. 

Her daughter nodded. “Of course.”

There was an awkward pause. The three guards sitting against the wall - one of the ones who should have been sitting next to her daughter must have snuck off - looked to be half-asleep. “Thanks,” Donna eventually said, glancing at her sheet. “How are the repairs at the cottage going?”

“Fine. Grandma and Grandpa went there for the weekend with Lars.”

“Why did he go as well?”

Her daughter smiled. “I don’t blame him for wanting to get out of the madhouse.”

“Does he like it at the cottage?”

“He likes to sit in the folding chair and read,” her daughter said with a slight roll of the eyes. “There’s nothing to read there except some old books, and he’s already read all of them. Twice.”

“You should throw them out,” Donna said. “What good is that garbage? I’m sure you have better books at home.”

Her daughter glanced at the guards, who didn’t even meet her eyes. “We don’t,” she said emotionlessly. “And Lars doesn’t want to haul around library books like that.” Donna cringed. Books were very low on the list of things that needed to be bought, as they could simply be borrowed from the library, and thus the budget was spared at least that.

“I forgot.”

“You’re right, though,” her daughter said in a consoling voice. “The books at the cottage really are garbage. I’ll ask Dad to buy a few things. It’s not like we can’t afford it, after all.”

“No, really, you need to build up your savings-”

“-It’s alright, don’t worry, we can afford it.” Her daughter tried to placate her. “There’s nothing wrong with our finances. Uncle Alex even dumped a bunch of money on us, said it’s repayment for what he borrowed twenty years ago.”

Taken completely aback, Donna tried to figure out how to respond to such momentous news. “How much?”

“No idea.”

“Well, that’s great, then,” she said, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. It was excellent news, after all, but it was impossible to maintain a good mood during a visit. “I’ll have to thank him when I write to you.”

“How are you doing?” her daughter suddenly asked.

“Same as always,” Donna automatically replied. “Everything is growing well.”

“Us, too. The cottage is doing fine. We’ll be going there for a while soon.”

* * *

“I can’t believe she’s already finished highschool,” Donna told Theodosius as they sat by the taps and washed lettuce. 

Theodosius took off several withered leaves and tried to toss them into the bucket, but one stuck to his hand. “I can’t believe it either,” he said, shaking his hand madly. “Primus just finished his first year of highschool! I’ll blink, and he’ll be finishing his first year of university.”

“Well, that’s how it goes,” Donna said with a sigh, clutching a handful of dirty lettuce. “Time flies. Especially with how rarely we see them.” She leaned over and tossed it into the sink, and then began to wash the leaves individually. They were extremely curly, and dirt got into every single crack and crevice. “Have you gotten their marks yet?” she asked as she uncurled a leaf and cleaned it with her fingernails.

“No. I doubt they’ll be as good as yours,” he replied lightly. Theodosius’ kids weren’t quite as academically successful as hers. “Still, with your parents around, they wouldn’t dare do too badly.” They shared a laugh at that.

“Can you imagine my mother telling Cynthia that she’s parenting wrong?” Donna said with a slight shudder. 

“Yes.” Theodosius ran a wet hand through his hair. “What do you think are the odds it has happened already?”

“One hundred percent.”

Theodosius shook his head as he placed a leaf of lettuce into the pail awkwardly standing on the corner of the sink. “Your parents are amazing,” he said, “but scary.”

“Nah,” Donna waved his worries aside, “once you meet them, you won’t be so scared.”

“What, they’ll soften up by then?”

“The opposite is more likely,” Donna said, playing along. “It’s just that they won’t be able to blame us for everything when we were never in a position to do anything in the first place.”

Theodosius picked up another leaf from the bottom of the sink. “Not much of a point of pride,” he said, tearing off some yellowed spots. “I’ll take what I can get, though, when your parents get involved.” At that, everyone around them laughed. Donna’s parents enjoyed semi-legendary status in the Supermax. They would have been horrified to find out that their words and actions were proverbial.

West made a vague sound next to Donna. “What is it?” Donna signed, turning around.

“What’s so funny?” The former Steelworks head of research could read lips, but not follow an entire conversation.

“A joke about my parents,” Donna explained. “Mr. Coll thinks his children got lower marks than mine, and jokes that my parents will scold his wife for not parenting them properly.”

West laughed silently while also signing her amusement. “Good thing I never had children,” she said. “I wouldn’t want my husband to be in that situation!” 

“Well, it’s not that bad,” Theodosius signed, leaping into the conversation. Donna reluctantly put down her hands, as trying to watch two people sign at once was about as hard as listening to two people talk at once. “They’re very helpful. We just joke, because, well, they do occasionally act strangely.” 

“Strangely? They’re walking stereotypes!”

Donna jumped back into the conversation. “Not really,” she signed, thinking of how her parents acted during their visits. “It’s just that we only talk about the funny parts.” West made a facial expression of amusement and turned back to the lettuce. “I wish we got to eat this,” Donna said to Theodosius as she held up a leaf.

“You want to eat this?” Theodosius held up a dead leaf.

Chuckling, Donna shook off a little bug off the leaf she was holding. “You think the administration’s going to be eating the spoiled leaves?”

“Now that would be nice,” Katz chimed in, turning around from where she was doing nothing with several other former Peacekeepers. The small group was crouching on the dusty ground and gossiping about various relatives. The more time passed, the more the former Peacekeepers’ relatives found within themselves a desire to reconnect. “I’ve heard that the sentries eat better than us.”

“Of course they do.” Theodosius bit off a piece of lettuce. “This is really bitter. Did we harvest it too late?”

Donna inspected the leaves she was holding more closely. “Doesn’t look that way.”

“That’s not really a problem,” Holder spoke up. “You just need to add salt.”

“Won’t it be too salty, then?” Theodosius asked.

Holder shrugged, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Just make sure to not add too much.”

“I am confident in the ability of the cooks to add the right amount of salt,” Donna said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. It’s not like Holder would understand it. A second later, Donna regretted it, as she didn’t want the others to think she was making fun of Holder. To soften her words she added, “After all, with how much they’re being paid, it would be strange if they couldn’t.”

“How much _are_ they paid?” Holder asked. “I wonder if the ones who cook for us are being paid less.”

“More, more like, given that they have to be trusted not to poison us,” Donna said dryly. In reality, that part of the administration was staffed mostly by locals who were more likely to feel sympathy for the inmates (according to the poll carried out two weeks ago), but Donna never let the truth get in the way of a good joke.

Holder moved from his heels to his toes, running his fingers over the ground. “But if we all dropped dead, they’d be out of a job,” he pointed out.

Given the level of healthcare the inmates got, Donna was sure that the administration knew that very well. “That’s why they need to be paid well,” she said. “One person can ruin everything for everyone.”

“In any case,” Theodosius added, “I’m sure that even if we were to die, the medical staff would drag us out of our graves by the collar.” He glanced at Hryb, who was napping in the virtually nonexistent shade under an apple tree. The youngest inmate was in his mid-thirties, and while his mental health was dubious on a good day, there was nothing wrong with him physically.

The former Peacekeepers noticed where Theodosius was looking. “Maybe the lifers,” Song said, “but you and I? I don’t think they care.”

“Maybe,” Donna admitted. 

“At this rate,” Katz muttered, “he won’t live to see sixty.” She stared at Hryb for a while. The younger man continued to sleep. “You can’t get zero physical activity and skip half your meals, and live a long time. Plus, with how often he’s chucked into solitary, he’s got to snap at some point.”

“I think there’s easier ways to commit suicide,” Theodosius pointed out.

Donna added, “If he skipped half his meals, they’d be force-feeding him already.” All of the inmates were on the skinny side of healthy, as if the administration couldn’t afford even one extra calorie. They even got less food on days they worked indoors, just like when there had been rationing in the country. 

“Still, you can’t spend all your time napping!” Song sounded incredulous. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll, but you civilians don’t seem to be interested in staying in shape.”

“We can’t all be Li,” Donna said, watching Li jog by. He had been doing so since they had stepped outside, and the sun was almost directly overhead by now. It wasn’t fair that he could both sprint and run long distances.

“Li is Li,” Katz said dismissively. “He’s so far off the charts, they don’t apply to him. I know you used to jog, Mrs. Blues. Why don’t you do it anymore?”

“That was in highschool,” Donna explained. “I stopped being active in university.”

“Why not start again?” Strata asked, leaning out from behind Katz’s back.

Tossing the last leaves into the bowl, Donna stood up. “Because just the weeding probably burns more calories than I consume,” she said pointedly. “I don’t need to do anything else on top of that.” Donna turned to Theodosius. “You want to go water the meadow?”

He glanced at the leaves in his sink, then at her, then back at the leaves. “Sure,” he said. Theodosius waved a hand in front of West’s face to get her attention and asked her to finish washing his lettuce. She agreed with an expansive nod, and took the leaves. 

They picked up the watering cans that were standing nearby, and began to fill them using the hoses. It took much longer than using the taps, but it also meant not needing to maneuver the cans in and out of the sinks. They waved goodbye to the former Peacekeepers and headed off in the direction of the meadow, carrying the heavy cans. Donna wasn’t sure what method of carrying was the best. On the head was the easiest way, but she doubted that was good for the neck. In a hand was unbalanced, but she could switch hands. “Bit hypocritical of them, to call us lazy while sitting around doing nothing,” Donna complained as she moved the can to her other hand.

“Katz has a point, though,” Theodosius pointed out. “Just look at who does and does not work. _Best_ works, and he’s more than twice Hryb’s age!” The former Peacekeeper was past eighty.

“No, no, I get that,” Donna said. The former Peacekeepers got much more done than the former civilians, both outdoors and indoors. “It’s her targeting of me specifically that makes no sense. If she’s so annoyed, can’t she go yell at Hryb?”

Theodosius chuckled. “I’d give our entire potato crop to see that.” Since shouting at Hryb was a pointless endeavour, they seldom bothered to.

“Now that sounds like a plan. Only problem is, how will you get the administration on board?” 

Theodosius paused for a second, thinking. “Well, it’s not like they’re happy with Hryb, either,” he pointed out. 

“Who exactly are you suggesting we give the potatoes to?” Donna asked.

“Anyone,” Theodosius said with a one-armed shrug. “Katz, the directors, Paylor, the work crews dismantling the other wings - I just want to see someone yell at Hryb.” The unoccupied wings of the prison were being taken apart, as they hadn’t been repaired since construction and were by now apparently falling apart and threatening to damage the occupied sections in the process.

Donna imagined the administration gifting Paylor sacks of potatoes. “I don’t think Paylor is in need of our potatoes, but the mental image is amazing.”

Theodosius giggled as he shifted the can to his other hand. “At the end of the day, she’s the reason any of this is happening, even if it did get away from her rather quickly.”

“That’s true. Still, I feel that it would be more appropriate to gift the potatoes to the directors. They’re going to be eating them in any case.” Donna carefully stepped around a slight hole in the path, not wanting to trip over it. The path had many such indentations, and the less sure-footed of the inmates remembered all of them so well, they could probably walk around it with their eyes closed.

“Now I want to eat some potatoes,” Theodosius sighed. “When’s lunch?” He looked at the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun. “It’s got to be around noon right now.”

Donna agreed with that sentiment. She was beginning to feel very, very hungry. The visit had killed her appetite, but only for a little while. While the blanket of depression was back now that she was walking in silence, at least she felt hunger. “Any moment now,” she said. “I wonder what’s for lunch.” For breakfast, there had been cornmeal with vegetables and soy, which had already been congealed into a lump by the time that it reached Donna’s cell. It still had tasted good, though. 

“Hopefully, potatoes,” Theodosius said with a half-smile. Something about that smile made Donna think of Lars, but she wasn’t sure what.

“Potatoes would be nice,” Donna agreed, “but I hope we get something new.”

“Something new would also be nice.” They reached the edge of the meadow, and Theodosius patted one of the trees, which towered over him. Donna began to water the meadow, wishing that they could get a hose long enough to water it. Sometimes it seemed like half their time was spent just watering the meadow. 

They were soon called for lunch, which turned out to be vegetable-and-bean stew, an apple, a tiny handful of peanuts, and a piece of flat white bread. Donna mopped up the last bits of vegetable juice from the tray with the bread, which was slightly stale but still tasted good. She wondered where it was from. After a brief pause to read the newspapers, it was time to go back outside. The heat crushed her like a suffocating blanket.

“It’s boiling hot out here,” she complained to Theodosius, who was putting on sunscreen. His shirt was tied around his waist.

Theodosius took off his shoes and socks and placed them carefully against the wall. “That it is,” he agreed, rubbing sunscreen into a bare shoulder.

“You sure they’ll let you walk around without a shirt?” Donna asked. Theodosius shrugged.

“Worth a shot,” he said, handing the sunscreen to her. Donna rolled up her sleeves and trouser legs, took off her shoes and socks, and covered every exposed millimetre of herself in a thin layer of sunscreen. How much sunscreen did the administration have to buy annually? “What’s so funny?” Theodosius asked.

Donna realized she was smiling slightly. “Just wondering how much sunscreen we use up.”

“A lot.” Theodosius scratched one foot with the other. “There’s probably an entire section in the budget for that.” They resumed carrying water for the meadow.

“Who are you seeing next?” Donna asked as they walked.

“Cynthia. You?”

“Aulus.” Her middle child had just turned twelve. “He’s starting middle school in the fall, after all.”

Theodosius ran his free hand through his hair, knocking off his cap. Grumbling, he put down the watering can and crouched down to pick it up. “That’s nice,” he said after they resumed walking. “His first visit, right?”

“Yes.” Donna tried to picture her son, but she could only imagine him as he had been the last time she saw him and not as the boy in the photograph taken six months ago. “I probably won’t recognize him,” she said sadly.

“Same. When Andrea or Emilia visit, I’ll have to write down which one of them it is.” His twin daughters were turning twelve in September.

“Are they visiting you after Cynthia?” Donna asked.

“Yeah.” Theodosius moved the can to his other hand and wiped off the sweat on his trousers. “It’s funny that they look so different they’re impossible to mix up, but I simply keep on forgetting which one is which!”

Best and Verdant, who were walking in the opposite direction and arguing about submarines, paused to commiserate. “I had the same thing happen to me,” Best said. “I only had two children, and I still managed to call them by the wrong name half the time!” They had both joined the Peacekeepers, like their father, and had both died during the Rebellion.

“That happened to me, too,” Donna said. As far as she knew, that was par for the course for people with more than one child.

Verdant shifted from foot to foot, trying to not put weight on his bad leg. “Why?” he asked.

The three of them fell silent for a while, trying to think of an answer. That was a good question. “No idea,” Donna eventually said. “I’m not bad with names generally, after all. It’s only when it comes to my kids that I get them all mixed up.”

“That’s interesting,” Verdant said. “Is it because you were away because of work so often?”

Donna shook her head. “My husband had the same problem even when he stayed at home with them.”

“Interesting,” Verdant repeated. 

“Same here,” Theodosius said. “I’ve heard that it happens to almost everyone.”

“Never thought there would be an advantage to only being allowed one visitor at a time,” Donna joked. “Just write down who’s visiting, and you’ll be fine.” Theodosius chuckled.

“Or you can just talk to them without ever using their names,” he said. “In a pinch, ‘hey, you’ works fine.”

“Unless you’re trying to address someone specific in a group,” Donna pointed out. “Then you have to tap them on the shoulder.”

“That sounds like my parents,” Verdant said. “When I was little, I worried that my parents’ inability to remember my name meant they didn’t care about me.” He leaned on his cane slightly. The fact that the motion was perceptible at all meant that he must have been in great pain, but he still refused to wear a brace, claiming that everything was fine. He shook his head now, lost in his memories. “It’s not like there were that many of us, after all.” He had two siblings, both of them still alive (a rarity for people of his background; miners had tended to die in middle age) and visiting him regularly.

“How are they doing?” Theodosius asked. They continued walking towards the meadow.

“Fine. My sister’s going to retire in a few months, and my sibling just had their third grandchild.”

Keeping track of everyone’s families was impossible, especially given their constant expansion as more and more children married and grandchildren were born. “They’re both older than you, right?” Donna asked.

“Yes, by a few years.” 

“That’s nice,” Theodosius said absently.

“I suppose so,” Donna said. “But then again, my brother’s only two years older than me. Not that he lets me forget it. I swear, it’s like he’s eternally twelve years old.”

“He does sound like it, from what you’ve told,” Best said.

“Actually,” Donna said, “my daughter told me that he’s started repaying his debts from decades ago.”

“Bit late to start maturing,” Best pointed out wryly. They walked past an uncommonly alert guard. Donna didn’t recognize the young man from Four. He must have just replaced one of the old interior guards. The sentries, too, had just been replaced. Donna glanced up to the watchtower where a short person was walking around, gun slung over their shoulder. They were always antsy for the first few days.

Once, they had been shown several photographs of the changeover of the guard. It was a striking image. All thirteen Districts, standing solemnly side-by-side, projecting an image of unity that existed nowhere else in the country. The words of an observer from her trial came back to her. _The Districts are only united in this courtroom, and only against the defendants_. Well, the trials were long since over, and the Districts were still united against her, Theodosius, Best, Verdant, and all the rest of them.

As soon as the guard was safely out of earshot, Donna asked in her softest whisper, “Did you notice how eager he is?”

Verdant finished telling a funny story about his nephew before answering. “He’s very young,” he said, looking discreetly at the guard. “Young people are either very lazy or very eager. There is no middle ground.” 

The guard noticed Verdant looking, and stared at him suspiciously. “What do you want, Male Seventeen?” he asked in an unexpectedly deep voice as he stepped closer towards them.

“Nothing, guard,” Verdant said, taking off his cap and snapping to attention. “We would like to welcome you to your new post.”

“Um, thank you,” the guard replied, sounding utterly confused. He scratched at a pockmarked cheek and shifted his gaze from Verdant to Theodosius to Donna to Best, suddenly growing focused. Donna squirmed under his gaze. The young guard’s almost unnaturally bright-green eyes terrified her as they took in every single detail. Could he really be so young as he appeared? “Move along,” he said in a cold and commanding tone. “You are not to loiter.”

Donna wanted to point out that he was the one who had ordered them to stop walking, but decided against it. The first few days were not a time to try to get friendly with a guard. The four of them continued to walk in silence, only speaking again when at the meadow. Donna and Theodosius began to water the grass as the former Peacekeepers sat down on the bench, which was right against the strip of bare ground that touched the wall. “He’s not very friendly,” Theodosius said as he tilted his watering can.

“He knows his job,” Best retorted. “At least for now. Not that I’m unhappy with them expressing their sympathy, of course, but when they behave like the guards at the trial, it simply confuses me. Very unprofessional.”

Donna emptied the last drops from her watering can and set it down next to the bench. “They are not behaving like the guards at the trial. If they were, we wouldn’t be eating the way we are.”

“I heard they’re going to send in professional prison guards,” Theodosius cut in.

That was complete news to Donna, and from their facial expressions, to the former Peacekeepers as well. “What? When did you hear that?” they asked.

“Last week, but it was only one person, so I didn’t want to spread unsubstantiated rumours,” Theodosius explained as he also finished watering and walked over to stand by the bench.

“In case you haven’t noticed, the prison runs on unsubstantiated rumours,” Donna pointed out. “Any details?”

Theodosius ran a foot over the grass, the softness of which contrasted sharply with the yellowed dry grass that grew in small patches on the path. “No, which is why I didn’t tell anyone,” he said. 

“Professional guards,” Verdant mused. “I wonder what they’re like.”

Donna had no idea. Before, she had heard plenty of rumours about what it was like in prison, but the new government had reformed the system, so that was probably all inaccurate. “They probably would handle things better,” she said. “The guards we have are unprofessional in all senses of the word.”

“That’s true,” Theodosius said. “That guard’s tossing around his weight today, but next week, he’ll be offering to smuggle things for us.”

* * *

That evening, Donna put on her glasses and read a note sent in by Livia and Dancer. They were requesting for her to elaborate on the offhand mention she had made in her last portion of notes of Snow’s granddaughter and requested more information about his family. As Donna read her books, a part of her mind tried to recall everything she knew about Coriolana Snow. They had only talked twice or three times, though Dem had met her more often, as he had talked to everyone’s spouses and children.

_My husband told me that she was very reserved and shy, and that is the impression I also got. Her mother, Snow’s daughter, is some sort of scientist who changed her name[insert names of everyone] as an undergraduate to avoid whispers of nepotism, and I don’t know what her father did or does. Snow’s entire family was covered with a veil of secrecy. I know his wife died decades ago, but I do not know how. He only had one child, and I do not know about siblings or extended family, but I am sure someone will have done plenty of research on this by the time this is published [insert whatever info is available]._

_Even an insider such as I was not privy to the details of the inner workings of Snow’s family. I heard rumours that Snow’s daughter had been unwilling to send Coriolana to live with her grandfather, and also that the name had been decided on by Snow himself, or to placate him because of some sort of incident, or because the father was a true believer. Coriolana, though, was a pleasant child who had been heavily sheltered from the world around her. My eldest child met her once, and complained that the girl was ‘really naive and didn’t understand anything about anything’, while my husband said that she was simply unaware of a lot about how the world worked, even relative to the children of Snow’s inner circle._

_I believe that she is currently residing with her parents under an assumed name._ By the time Donna’s words would be published there would probably be more information available, but it was a relief to be able to write down what she knew, even if she would be proven wrong in a few years. _I hope that she is able to have a normal life. While the passing of the years means less and less people doing a double-take at the names of my children, the name ‘Snow’ will never be forgotten._


	46. Unexpected

Reaching her hands deeper and deeper into the dirt, Donna couldn’t find the end of the potato. Confused, she took the spade and began to remove small shovelfuls of dirt from around it. “What is it?” Theodosius asked.

“I’m not sure,” Donna replied, clearing away more and more earth to reveal what looked like a large blob. “I think there’s something wrong with the potato.”

Theodosius moved over from where he was digging up several normal-sized potatoes and crouched down next to the plant Donna was excavating. Brushing away handfuls of dirt, he revealed what looked like several large potatoes stuck together. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“A mega-potato?” 

“First we have nano-potatoes, then we have mega-potatoes. Can’t we have some normal potatoes for once?” They continued to dig with their hands, not wanting to damage the potato.

“No,” Donna said in a deadpan voice. Her hand finally reached the bottom of the oversized tuber, but when she tried to pull on it lightly, it was still stuck. 

“I can see that.” It took some more digging before the potato finally emerged out of the crater they had dug. “Did all of the potatoes of this plant just grow together?” he asked. “Because that’s what it looks like.”

Theodosius was right. This wasn’t one strangely shaped potato, or at least it hadn’t always been. Donna marveled at the odd shape. They had often had potatoes stuck together before, but not to this extent. This one was the size of a human head! “I don’t think it’ll fit in the bucket,” Donna pointed out. “Let’s go hand it in on its own.” She stood up, holding the potato. Theodosius rose from his crouch but stopped halfway, hissing in pain and rubbing at his back.

“What’s wrong?” Donna asked anxiously. 

“I don’t know.” Theodosius sat back down, leaning forward. “Bad posture, maybe.”

Donna sighed. “First you hurt your upper back, now it’s your lower back?”

Continuing to massage his back with his hands, Theodosius shrugged. “I guess.” He tried to lie down, hissed in pain again, and sat back up, shoulders bowed. “This might take a while.” He slumped sideways, lying curled up in a fetal position.

Donna put the giant potato next to him and went back to digging. They had just started harvesting the potatoes that day, and the crop seemed to be quite good so far, even without taking the mega-potato into consideration. Many of the tubers were the size of her palm. “At least you’ll be able to send some messages,” she said quietly.

“At least there’s that,” Theodosius agreed. “At this point, a part of me looks forward to needing glasses.” While it did appear likely that the orderlies at this point had deemed themselves en masse to be mail carriers, there was still the problem that Theodosius had no frequent contact with them, at least usually. Now, though, someone would be sent for a few days at least to do something with his back, which gave Theodosius the opportunity to send out larger amounts of paper.

Donna positioned a few more tubers on top of the full bucket and glanced at Theodosius, who was climbing to his feet. “Are you better now?” she asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think I can carry anything,” he said apologetically. 

Picking up the bucket in one hand and the mega-potato in the other, Donna waved his worries aside. “It’s not like we’re pressed for time,” she said as they headed towards the shed. 

“I don’t want to sit around doing nothing until evening, though.” He took the mega-potato from her. “I can carry this much.”

Donna switched the bucket to her now-free hand. “Thanks.”

As they walked, they were frequently stopped by guards and inmates alike and asked about the potato. “We don’t know what’s up with it,” they explained over and over. “It’s probably just a bunch of potatoes that grew together.”

“Does that mean we should anticipate one large potato per plant instead of many small ones?” the director from Nine asked with a smile. “I don’t think that will improve yields.” The broad woman had once farmed potatoes herself.

“No, director,” Donna said, cap in one hand and bucket in the other. “It’s an anomaly.”

“Pity,” she said. “That would have been something to brag to my family about.” Donna and Theodosius nodded silently. “Dismissed.”

At the shed, they collided with Grass, who raised an eyebrow at the mega-potato. “I see you achieved what Cotillion couldn’t,” she said.

“What, actually improving crop yields? I think we’ve been doing that for years now.” Donna emptied the bucket into the wheelbarrow, which was almost empty for now. Then, she took the mega-potato from Theodosius and put it in as well.

“That is a very large potato.”

“We noticed,” Theodosius said.

“It has a very strange shape.”

“It’s multiple potatoes that grew together,” Donna explained. “It’s like the opposite of conjoined twins.” Instead of failing to separate, they had joined together.

“Huh,” said Grass. “Would you two like an apple?” she asked, taking one out from her pocket.

“Thank you,” Donna said, reaching out and taking it. It wasn’t very big, fitting nicely in her hand, but it wasn’t too small either.

Grass looked at the mega-potato. “Is this the only one that’s like that?” she asked.

“We don’t know. We’ve only just started digging up the potatoes,” Theodosius said. “It’s probably an anomaly, though.”

“How are they even going to peel it?” Grass wondered out loud. “They’ll probably have to cut it up. I hope someone takes a photo.”

“What, and leak it to the media?” Donna asked, putting the apple in a trousers pocket. “Bad enough that they somehow found out about Kremser’s high blood pressure.” Usually, any news of that sort only got out much later and in such a distorted form they couldn’t figure out what the actual truth that had inspired it was, but this time, it was timely and partially accurate and Kremser’s family was apparently trying to cause a ruckus.

“Bad?” Grass asked. “Are you saying that it’s bad that Kremser’s family found out about her health?”

“I’m saying that it’s bad that distorted news leak out constantly,” Theodosius parried. “They made a mountain out of a molehill.”

“A mountain out of a slightly smaller mountain, you mean.”

Donna sighed. “Kremser’s up and walking just fine,” she pointed out. “Her family thinks her life is in danger.”

“If the administration had been willing to be upfront with our families, they wouldn’t have been forced to rely on fifth-hand gossip,” Grass insisted. “Honestly, I do not see any logic in their actions. Kremser’s blood pressure spikes for a few days. Then she gets better and is now almost back to normal. What is there to hide here?”

That was one of the administration’s stranger rules. Why prohibit inmates’ families from learning about their loved ones’ health when so much effort was put into dealing with every minor crisis? “I don’t know,” Theodosius said. “It’s probably just Thirteen paranoia.”

“It doesn’t help them at all,” Grass said. “In fact, all this secrecy probably hurts them in the long run, because the public thinks there’s something to hide. Where is the logic?”

Looking for logic in the administration of the Supermax was a fool’s errand. “Nowhere,” Donna said. “They threw this together at the last moment and are now stuck with the old regulations because they can’t get along for long enough to change them.”

“Finally, something we can agree on.” Grass nodded slightly. “Let’s end on this note. I’ll see you around, Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll.”

“Likewise,” they replied, and headed towards the taps to wash the apple.

The water started out tepid, and Donna rushed to finish scrubbing the dirt off her hands so it didn’t have time to become cold. Theodosius gingerly sat down in front of a different tap, shoulders hunched. “Are you alright?” Donna asked, noticing his grimaces.

“Getting better,” he said in a reassuring voice. “Sitting’s easier than standing, which is easier than lying down.”

“Still, if you can’t straighten your back-”

“That’s what the orderly is for.” Theodosius turned off the tap and climbed to his feet. Donna took out the apple from her pocket and rinsed it off in the rapidly cooling water before handing it to Theodosius, who took a big bite. “Juicy.” 

He handed it to her, and Donna bit off a piece. It was indeed juicy, but still soft and almost mushy. Much easier to eat than the crispy apples Donna had eaten before. They walked back to the potatoes, Donna holding the bucket in one hand, handing the apple back and forth to each other until only the seeds and stem remained. “That was good,” she said. “Better than the stale ones they give us.” She licked at the inside of her mouth, trying to get at the last bits of juice.

“We should get more,” Theodosius said, gazing longingly at the buckets Gold and Fourrer were carrying towards the shed. Under one of the trees, Stone was eating an apple with one hand as he picked up others from the ground and tossed them into a bucket. There wasn’t much to pick up, as fallen apples tended to be immediately eaten by either a guard or an inmate, usually a guard. “The potatoes won’t rot if we go eat a few apples.”

Eating half an apple had just made Donna hungrier. “Let’s do it,” she said. “They’re not going to turn down help, after all.”

They turned back and walked towards the cluster of apple trees. There were more all over the yard, but this was the closest bunch. “Hello, Mr. Stone,” Theodosius said. “Would you mind if we had a few apples?”

Stone turned around. His face was so deeply lined, his eyes were almost hidden. “If the guards don’t mind, go right ahead,” he said with a shrug. Lifting up a bruised apple to stare at the rotten side he added, “The ones lying on the ground are all wormy, though, so eat carefully if you don’t want some extra protein in your diet.” Stone laughed and tossed the bruised apple into a bucket full of more bruised apples. He picked up another one and tossed it to Donna, who stared at it sceptically.

“What’s worse than biting into an apple and finding a worm? Biting into an apple and finding half a worm. And what’s worse than that? Biting into an apple and finding no worm.”

“That’s a good one,” Stone said, chuckling. “Where did you hear it?”

“My mother told it to my kids, who told me in a letter.”

Meanwhile, Theodosius had taken the apple from Donna, and was staring at it intently.

“Tell her that’s very funny,” Stone said. “When do you see her next?”

“In two months. My middle son is visiting me in a few days.”

“How old is he?” Stone asked.

“Twelve.”

Theodosius sat down against the tree and started to eat an apple. With his free hand, he piled a few more apples into his lap. Donna hoped he wouldn’t make himself sick from eating too much.

“Twelve, huh?” Stone muttered as he looked around for more fallen apples. Spotting one several metres away, he reached out and took it. “I remember when I was twelve, all I wanted was to become a Tribute. Funny thing is, I still ended up in an Arena, though not in the way I had expected.” Stone had attended the Games Academy for four years before being transferred to a Peacekeeper Academy.

Donna also sat down, but not before reaching up and plucking an apple from another tree. “Well, you did end up there in a very different capacity,” she said. 

He nodded. “I still sometimes wonder how my life would have been had I not asked so many dumb questions,” he said with a sigh. “I’d have probably been cut for one reason or another, and nothing would have changed. I probably wouldn’t have reached the Games.” While his lack of ability with cold weapons had been the official reason for his transfer, his endless questioning of authority hadn’t led the administration to think favourably of him. “Still, though, that’s when I learned to never question authority. Maybe I’d have been different.”

Stone wasn’t one for talking about his own past too much, but even he was given to reminiscing about the old days. “Maybe,” Donna said, prompting him to continue. Theodosius nodded as he began to eat a second apple.

“I wonder what people will think of that,” Stone mused, staring at the sky. “You think they’ll be able to understand that even someone such as I could still think on their own?” While in the Academy, Stone had frequently asked why the trainees weren’t being taught survival skills, never getting the hint that this was not something anyone wanted to talk about. They had been taught at the very beginning, until a group of eighteen-year-old candidates, including the male designated volunteer, had used their skills to defect on the very morning of one Reaping, eventually settling down in a city in the Wilds. After that, the administration had taken no risks, forbidding the trainees from learning even as much as how to start a fire. The decision had looked very odd to those unaware of the backstory, but most had had the presence of mind to not ask questions. “I asked questions once, and was punished for it. What else could be expected of me after that?”

Picking out the seeds from his apple core, Theodosius pointed out that that was a question for Stone’s therapist. 

“I already talked to them,” he said, “but they just asked me what I think.”

“Well, what _do_ you think?” Donna asked, starting to eat a third apple.

“Look,” Stone said, sitting up with an apple in each hand. “I asked a completely innocent question and was punished for it. Could I really have been expected to continue doing so?”

“Others did,” Donna pointed out carefully. “Arbitrary punishments just made them think more about what they were serving.”

“But how?” Stone asked with a tinge of desperation. “What is it about me that made me not think that what I was doing was immoral?”

Theodosius leaned forward slightly. “You think that what you did was immoral?” he asked in a probing tone. There was a small pile of apple cores next to him.

“Does it matter what I think now?” Stone asked. “Yes, of course, now I think it was immoral. But what does that mean? Nothing. What I think now can’t change the past. Of course it was wrong, but the whole point was that I didn’t feel this, and why didn’t I? Was it something about the way I was raised? Or was it always a deficiency in me? Or both?” Having finished that small rant, he leaned back, hands laced behind his head. Donna hoped she’d remember it all tonight when she did her writing. That was one of the most candid pronouncements she had ever heard from one of the former Peacekeepers.

As if reading her mind Stone added, “Don’t think this means I buy into your responsibility nonsense. A rabid dog is not held accountable for its actions, but it is still killed.”

Donna wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Was he saying that his punishment was justified but he still held no legal responsibility for what he had done? And why was he likening himself to a rabid dog?

“You’re not a dog,” Theodosius said, as if talking to a child. “You’re a person.” He took another bite of an apple and winced. “I think that last one was one too much,” he muttered and lay down on the ground, curled up into a ball.

“It’s the only analogy I could think of,” Stone replied with a shrug. 

“Well, it’s not a very good one,” Donna said.

“I should not have eaten so many,” Theodosius groaned.

“Whatever.” Stone waved away her protestations. “How’s your son doing?”

* * *

The morning of Aulus’ visit, the letter from her family arrived, bearing unexpected news. “My daughter broke up with her boyfriend,” Donna told Theodosius as they set out for their morning walk. The air had a slight chill, so they were both wearing their shirts for now. 

“But you said they were doing fine!”

Donna had thought so, too. “She says it was amicable. Apparently, they decided that what they’re doing in life is too incompatible, and they’ve been drifting apart since Donna started university.”

“What exactly is he doing?” Theodosius asked.

“No idea. I also thought it was strange. Maybe he moved away, and they couldn’t make long-distance work.” Donna wished she could comfort her daughter, but she would only be able to see her next year. So much was left out in those brief letters, and there was a limit to how much could be sent clandestinely. “I was hoping you might have some advice, since you went through something like that yourself.”

Theodosius looked thoughtful. “If that’s what it was, then it was probably rather peaceful. We knew we’d have to break up as soon as we realized that our plans were completely incompatible. Plus, we lost all contact with each other after she left for Two, so that also made it easier.”

That did a lot to assuage her worries, but Donna wasn’t sure that it was all so simple. “I wish she’d tell me exactly what’s going on,” she said. “I’m having to extrapolate from practically nothing!”

“Maybe you can find out more today,” Theodosius said, sounding like he didn’t believe his own words.

Donna doubted that. “I never knew any of my brother’s partners, and he’s only two years older than me. And in any case, I don’t think it would be appropriate to see my son for the first time in years and ask him about his sister.”

“You’ll have half an hour,” Theodosius said consolingly. 

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Around mid-morning, Donna was called away from the potatoes by a warden. She cleaned up in her cell, scrubbing at her hands to remove the dirt and putting on clean clothing. After a quick haircut, she was led to the room, anxiety squeezing her chest. She did the breathing exercises Dr. Chu had taught her. It helped somewhat. Aulus wasn’t there yet, so she took the time to try and relax a little bit more, feeling guilty at being relieved that she’d have to spend less time in here.

Finally, the door opened, and her son walked in, talking to the two guards who took their seats next to him. He had grown a lot from the boy in the photograph, to say nothing of the last time she had seen him. Aulus looked like both her and Dem, with narrow dark eyes, medium-brown skin, and curly hair cut short. She only saw his eyes for a second, though, as he didn’t look at her as he sat down, instead staring at the floor. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” Aulus replied. He raised his eyes to meet hers, looking a little bit confused. “You-” he broke off, staring at the ground again.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

“Nothing.” Her son hunched in on himself. Donna realized he must have been taken aback by her appearance. He had been just six years old the last time he had seen her, after all, and she looked quite different in the photographs from before. 

“You’ve grown so much!” Donna said after an awkward pause. “Straighten up, so I can look at you!”

With visible reluctance, her son straightened up slightly. He was so much bigger than he had been the last time she had seen him, and indeed he was quite tall for a twelve-year-old. “You must be almost as tall as Lars now!”

Aulus shrugged. “He started growing again. He’s a metre sixty now.”

So far, it appeared that none of the children were taking after their grandfather. Hopefully the boys at least would outgrow their father eventually, if only by a little bit. “And how tall are you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Tall. For now. Maybe I’m done growing, like Donna.”

“I doubt that,” Donna said consolingly. “Boys grow later than girls.”

“I guess.” Aulus hunched up again, staring at the ground. He looked extremely uncomfortable.

“How’s your Dad?”

“Good.”

“How’s school?”

“Good.”

If her parents had been there, they’d have died of laughter. No wonder they had sighed so much at her monosyllabic answers to questions about school! “How are your siblings?”

“Everyone’s fine,” he said. “It’s in the letter.”

“But what about the things there was no room to write about?” Donna asked. “What are you reading right now?”

That made Aulus liven up a bit, and he talked for a while about the book they were discussing in his Lit class. As soon as the conversation drifted towards the personal, though, it became more awkward. Trying to keep up at least some semblance of the conversation going, Donna continued prompting him about various bits of news, even though he didn’t know much outside of what they discussed in class.

“When I was your age,” Donna said impulsively, “we didn’t talk about the news in class. We weren’t even encouraged to care about them.”

One of the guards looked around at the others. Seeing no support, he sat back against the wall. “Huh,” her son said, and fell silent.

“Are you reading anything else interesting?”

Aulus shrugged. 

“How’s your sister doing? A breakup on top of starting university can’t be easy.”

Her son looked downright uncomfortable at that, cringing and staring intently at the ground. Donna held back a sigh, not wanting to discomfort him further. Why was he so reticent? 

“What else are you doing in school?”

“Stuff.” Everything about his posture screamed a desire to be left alone. 

“Any details?” Donna asked in a borderline pleading tone. Aulus shrugged.

* * *

“That was terrible,” Donna complained to Dr. Chu that afternoon. “Honestly, a part of me wishes the visit never happened!”

“And the other part?”

Donna kneaded the teal ball. “I haven’t seen him since the trial,” she said. “At least I know he’s doing fine, even if he didn’t express it very well.”

“How did he express it?” the psychologist asked, adjusting her kerchief, which was dyed with dizzying patterns of red and orange and yellow.

“He talked about a few of his classes readily enough. We discussed the book he’s reading and a few things from the news.” Donna shifted slightly on her cot. “When I tried to ask him how he was doing, though, he clammed up.”

“Did you try to discuss anything else?”

“I asked him about the family, but he didn’t want to talk about that, either. He just shrugged a lot and sat like this.” Donna imitated her son’s hunched-over posture.

“But he was willing to talk about the news.” That was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, but there was still some awkwardness.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “Did talking to him feel similar to before, or did it feel more like talking to a stranger?” she asked.

More than anything, Donna wanted to deny the implication that she and her own son were now strangers, but she could see the truth in it. “I see what you’re getting at,” she admitted. “The more personal the questions, the more uncomfortable he looked.” She rolled the ball between her palms. The squishing sound was clearly audible in the silence. “I know I complain a lot about how hard it is to talk to them, but it’s never that bad with Donna and Lars.”

“Why do you think that is so?”

Donna thought about it for a while, stretching and squeezing the bright-teal ball. “Aulus was six when I was sentenced. I didn’t see him much during the trial, and before that, too, I was absent a lot after my promotion. I doubt he has many meaningful memories of me.” And it would only be worse with her two youngest. Donna doubted they had any memories whatsoever of her before the arrest. “To make matters worse, there are now seven people that visit me. It’ll be more than a year until I see him next. At this point, even if I were released tomorrow, I’d need to re-establish a relationship with him from nothing.”

“Was the communication you have through the letters no help at all?”

“Not really.” Dr. Chu immediately wrote that down. “I spend so much time trying to pick my words, and I’m sure it’s also difficult for him to figure out what to write. We’re not communicating, we’re exchanging monologues.” That particular phrase had actually been coined by Dr. Chu herself. “Of course, it’s better than nothing, but it has nothing in common with an actual conversation.” 

As the psychologist finished writing that down, Donna kneaded the ball. “How does that compare to the relationship you have with Donna and Lars?” Dr. Chu asked, flipping back and looking at a piece of paper taped to the clipboard.

“With them, it’s definitely easier. I think it’s because they know me better, so there isn’t that same awkwardness.”

“Do you think it will get better over time?”

Donna shook her head. “Not if I can only see him once a year. Maybe once he’s fully grown it might be possible, but for now, he’s going to be changing too fast. The impression I have of him now isn’t going to be valid next year.”

“And what sort of impression is that?”

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “Like you said, I’m a stranger to him. Anyone would feel awkward if they had to interact with a total stranger who asked them questions about their siblings.” She stared at her hands, not wanting to look the psychologist in the eyes. “I don’t know who my son is.” A panicky feeling seized her. “What kind of parent am I if I don’t know who my own children are?” She envied her fellow inmates for being so much older than her. Their children were all fully grown, or close to it.

“Tell me about Aulus,” Dr. Chu said in a soothing tone. 

“What should I tell you?”

“Anything.” When Donna remained silent she added, “Perhaps you could start at the beginning.”

Donna leaned back against the wall, remembering the day when she had discovered she was pregnant with her third child. “Lars started out unenthusiastic about the new addition, but he came around quickly,” she reminisced. “He adjusted quickly to not being the youngest.” 

“They’re very close in age,” Dr. Chu said. Donna nodded, remembering Dem joke about how having all the children be very close in age made his life easier, as this way, he actually remembered how to parent a certain age. “How aware were they of this shifting dynamic?”

“Not fully. Donna and Lars grew up thinking that every so often, they get a new sibling, but Aulus was only four when Octavius was born. I don’t think he consciously remembers not being a middle child. And keep in mind that he was born not too long before my promotion, so he was the first of my children to have less interaction with me.” She looked up to face Dr. Chu. “I think that’s another reason we couldn’t connect. Since I was away so often, we never had much of a relationship.”

Dr. Chu nodded slightly. “You’ve told me that after your promotion, you were seldom home at the same time as the children were awake.”

“Exactly.” Even when she hadn’t been on location, she had still left for the office before they were awake and returned after they were sleeping. “I didn’t prioritize my family. The last two New Year’s, I spent on location. Dem said he understood that I was very busy, and it never crossed my mind that I would never have another chance.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve talked to Theodosius, as we’re both in the same situation, but him trying to give me advice is the blind leading the blind.”

“That’s a good turn of phrase,” Dr. Chu said with a slight chuckle. “But I wouldn’t be so harsh on you two. You’re two people helping each other overcome similar struggles.” Donna shrugged. “What did he say this afternoon?”

“Mostly just talked about how he had a similar thing happen to him when he talked to Andrea. Except that instead of clamming up, she started talking about things he knows nothing about. Poor Theodosius ended up sitting there for half an hour, unable to follow the conversation or even get a word in edgewise.”

“I suppose that is one of those cases where both extremes are equally bad,” Dr. Chu said. “What does he think about the visit?”

Donna wanted to point out that his visit had been days ago and that she must have talked to him directly about it, but held back. Dr. Chu wanted to know what he said to others, and how she interpreted it. “He’s upset that they did not connect, same as me. I actually think he’s worse off. At least with me, it’s obvious that a conversation that’s made up of mostly silence is no conversation at all. He’s stuck trying to find meaning in sentences he can’t understand, because it’s hard to comprehend that you can have a non-stop conversation on various topics that, at its core, means nothing to you.”

“Did he tell you all that?” Dr. Chu asked.

“Partially. He told me that he’s going over the conversation over and over, trying to understand it. He says that he feels that if only he could understand her references, there would automatically be a level of closeness, as he’d be able to include them in his letters.”

Dr. Chu wrote something down. “Do you have the same problem?”

“Not to that extent, but yes. When Donna writes about university, I often have to ask her about the most banal things, because so much has changed that she’s not even aware is different now. I think it’s a problem all of us have to some extent. We’re so isolated in here, even the newspapers don’t help that much because they often off-handedly mention things we’re unaware of, and we end up stuck trying to put together a puzzle without half the pieces.”

“Could you give me a recent example of that? You told me last time about the argument you had about the cancellation of the death penalty.”

Donna kneaded the ball. “I think we still don’t quite understand what’s going on there. Only a few articles have gotten through.” Of course, she had read the forbidden articles, but Dr. Chu didn’t need to know that. Instead, she pretended that she was just guessing. “We’re all convinced that the yet-uncaught Games criminals were an important talking point, but we can only guess at how the issue was dealt with. I think some of us are interpreting the situation incorrectly because we don’t know how a lot of the debate went.” In reality, they were interpreting the situation incorrectly despite having access to all the information, which drove Donna round the bend.

“I know you like to ask the guards for news,” the psychologist said.

“We did find out a few things,” Donna replied, anticipating the question, “but I think it confused us even more. Did you know that a few of our spouses and relatives have set up a little club of sorts to campaign for our release?”

Dr. Chu didn’t bat an eye at the change in topic. She wrote something down. “We’ll get back to the guards’ extreme talkativeness,” she said. “I have indeed heard of it. I know your husband isn’t part of it.”

“He’s technically a single father working full-time, he’s got no time for that nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Dr. Chu raised her eyebrows at Donna’s vehement tone.

“It’s not going to work,” Donna explained. “I told them over and over, this kind of stuff will only hurt us in the long run.” 

“So you’ve told me,” Dr. Chu said. “Coming back to the issue of the guards, do you think that their willingness to tell you officially forbidden news makes it a little bit easier to communicate with your family?”

“Not at all.”

Dr. Chu seemed to buy it and continued the conversation.


	47. Left Behind

Picking up the sweater by the arm, Donna watched it untwist slowly. She lowered it back onto her lap and continued working on the sleeve. A few places over, Drape was staring at nothing, hands folded on her half-done sweater. She had been doing that a lot lately, now that her sixth and final year was drawing to a close.

“I wonder if they’ll let us take our crochet home with us,” Drape said quietly to Leta. The closer their release date loomed, the less they interacted with anyone else.

“I doubt it,” Leta replied, slowly shaping a stitch. “Last year’s bunch didn’t get to, after all.”

“That makes sense,” Drape said, lightly tapping her fingers together. “I-” continued, but stopped talking after glancing to the side, where Donna was sitting. Donna kept her eyes firmly on her work as she worked on the sleeve. Same as last year, everyone was unraveling as the releases drew near, and it wasn’t even February yet. The releases would be in March, April, and May. “I can’t believe that the next time I see my kids, it won’t be here,” Drape said in a whisper that nevertheless carried.

Trying to ignore her words, Donna tightened the yarn with more force than necessary. No wonder Vartha and Hatcher had gotten into an argument at breakfast, if they were going around practically bragging about their upcoming releases. “I think that at this point, I want them to be out of here more than they do,” she whispered to Theodosius. 

“Exactly,” he whispered back. “I’m no Vartha, to raise a fuss like that, but I do want to give them a piece of my mind.” The two former Gamemaker assistants didn’t ask much as glance in his direction as they continued discussing their families.

“My husband told me in a letter that he’s got a surprise for me,” Leta said wistfully. “I wonder what it is.”

“Mine, too. My kids write to me that they’re counting the days.” 

Li and Katz, who experienced even less of a desire to hear this than Donna (despite their professed belief in their early release), started arguing about Hryb instead. During the morning walk, Theodosius had told Donna that the men had all been woken up the previous night by someone screaming in pain, and that someone was, unexpectedly, Hryb.

Hearing what they were talking about, Verdant leaned over to hear them better. He was going through his annual cluster headaches at the moment, and they were clearly causing sleep deprivation. Verdant’s eyes were bloodshot, and he looked utterly exhausted. Despite that, he acted as if he had all his energy. “I was very surprised,” he said in a light voice. “I thought I was the one with the headaches around here!”

“Maybe headaches are contagious now,” Katz said sarcastically. 

“It’s probably just stress,” Li pointed out.

“He’s faking just to get on the nerves of the administration,” Stein said.

“Maybe it’s psychosomatic,” Theodosius retorted.

“Brought on by what?” Donna asked.

“I have no idea how to interpret any of this,” said Strata, accurately summing up the situation.

There was a pause as their little group contemplated the issue. Donna wished she could block her ears so that she didn’t have to listen to Drape and Leta talk about their families. 

“We’re all in agreement that there’s nothing physically wrong with his brain, right?” Katz eventually asked. “He’s not actually experiencing migraines or anything of that sort.” Hryb was currently in the infirmary undergoing tests, so they could speak openly.

“He might be,” Verdant pointed out. “My issue isn’t the headaches in and of themselves, it’s the screaming. Why did he scream until someone showed up instead of simply pressing the button? When I’m in pain, I try to muffle myself with the pillow.” He looked uncomfortable at admitting that much. All of the former Peacekeepers struggled with being open about their infirmities.

“Maybe he’s not faking, but milking it for all it’s worth to annoy the guards,” Stein amended his position. “This is Hryb we’re talking about.”

Unexpectedly, Renko shuffled over on his bench until he was closer to them. “I think this is all part of his plan,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Yes, part of his plan to drive us all to insanity,” Stein replied, not unkindly.

“No, there is something more to it. I was just telling the others that I overheard a guard ask another guard if he’s sure that Hryb isn’t getting ideas from some person whose name I didn’t quite catch. I think this person is telling Hryb what to do so that he can be released early for health reasons.” The nearby guards didn’t bat an eye at hearing that. Clearly that particular bit of information was already gossip in the guards’ cafeteria.

“I don’t think Hryb needs help in acting crazy,” Katz pointed out.

“I think we’ll need to wait until the results of the examination are announced,” Verdant said. “Though that won’t settle the question of why he chose to behave the way he did.”

“Because that’s all he ever does,” Stein grumbled. “I almost had a heart attack, thinking someone was being tortured.” Donna wanted to ask him why exactly did his mind immediately jump to torture.

“Do you think he’s getting ideas from someone?” Li asked, resuming work on his sweater. Donna followed suit, as did the others.

“In what sense?” Donna adjusted her grip on her yarn. “I don’t think there’s someone out there telling him what to do. And I’ve heard of people pretending to be mentally or physically ill to get out of prison, but I’ve never heard of a specific situation that mirrors Hryb’s to the point where it’s logical to assume he’s mimicking them.”

Li looked up suddenly, eyes wide. “Maybe the guard meant Yark?”

“I don’t think you can compare the situations,” Theodosius said. 

“I think you can, but it’s a moot point. Had the guards been discussing Yark, then you’d have noticed her name,” Li told Renko, sagging slightly as he realized the error in his thinking. He tapped his fingers against his crochet hook. “How well did you hear him?”

“The only thing I didn’t catch was the name.”

“That does seem to disprove the possibility.” Katz braced her right knee against her chest and used it as support for her sweater as she attached the front and back to each other. 

Turning back to face the group, Li nodded. “I simply can’t think of anyone else.”

Donna didn’t like the idea of the answer being out of her reach, even though that was the most likely scenario. The guard had probably been referring to someone she had never heard of, perhaps even from a different country. “Yark does fit, though,” she pointed out. “Especially since she succeeded, in a way.”

“I disagree,” Katz said. “The death penalty can’t be called for anymore, but it’s still on the table if the case already began. Yark was literally _sentenced_. The moment she cracks, they’ll drag her to the gallows.”

“But that’s the thing, nobody has been sentenced to death since then,” Theodosius pointed out. “You think they’ll be any more eager to perform an execution?”

Katz shrugged. “In that case, explain to me why Yark is still catatonic.”

“You think she’s willing to take even the smallest risk?” Donna asked. “She’s been faking for years now. She can keep it up for years more, I’m sure.”

Li shook his head. “Is it really worth it, though?” He stared at his sweater, fingers dancing with the yarn as if of their own volition.

“She thinks it is.” Donna moved around to sit cross-legged, trying to become a little bit warmer. Her toes felt chilly despite the boots and warm socks. ”I think she’s just waiting for her sentence to be commuted.” She, as well as many of the others, had come around to Li’s prediction.

“That much is obvious,” Li said. Before he could say another word, though, Katz cut in.

“I doubt that’s going to happen,” she said. “With all that pressure that’s on them about being soft on the so-called Games criminals, they’re not going to show her any mercy.”

“I disagree,” Theodosius said. “It would look arbitrary.”

Strata looked confused. “How?”

“Remember, the average person isn’t going to know all these details,” Li explained. “They just know that there’s no more death penalty. If Yark were to be executed three years from now, they’d think that she was being deliberately targeted. It just wouldn’t sit well with the sort of people who called for the abolition of capital punishment.”

“I’m still confused,” Strata admitted. “She was sentenced years ago, and the law says that she can still be executed.”

“You know that, but does the average person?” Recent polls had shown that a surprisingly low number of people were well-informed about the Games criminals. Donna hoped that it would make it easier for Dr. Fisher to plead her case. “And in any case, it would look very strange if nobody was executed for years and years, and then all of a sudden one person was executed.”

Strata nodded, still looking slightly confused. “That makes sense,” she said. “But I still disagree.”

With one ear, Donna listened to the continued debate between Katz and Li, and with the other - to the conversation between Drape and Leta as she continued the sleeve, which felt like it would never end. The yarn got caught on the velcro of her boot, and she removed it carefully.

“-You have to keep in mind, the government cares about what the people think-”

“-they both side with me, but that’s small comfort-”

“-wouldn’t risk unrest in the outer Districts-”

“-going to finish university-”

Donna rubbed at her temples. Maybe headaches _were_ contagious. 

“The closer the day draws, the more I imagine them,” Drape whispered.

Donna also often tried to imagine her children, but she always failed, unable to form a clear mental image. Instead, she imagined their surroundings. Was her daughter pushing through the crowded corridors right now, trying to get to class on time? The semester had just started, so the campus would still be very crowded. Or was she in the library with her friends? Donna imagined the campus as it had been the last time she saw it. Were the concrete-panel dorms still painted those pastel colours? Once, she had considered them to be trashy houses fit for trashy people, but now, after spending years surrounded by grey and white walls, there seemed to be a sort of naive beauty to them. Low, dilapidated apartment buildings, painted pale pink and light green as if to say that any surroundings, no matter how drab, could be made into something pretty. 

Sitting in the grey gym on a grey bench and with grey yarn lying in her lap, it was difficult for Donna to remember the colours of the university campus. Light-pink panel buildings stood side-by-side with small boxy constructions made from red brick, right next to a glass-and-steel tower. Donna wondered if they were still standing. The fighting had been very bad in that area.

“Where are you?” Theodosius asked.

Donna realized that she was staring at the wall. “In the university,” she said. “Do you think you can still see the Lodgepole Justice Building from the roof of the Math building?”

“Probably,” Theodosius replied. “The university wasn’t too badly damaged, after all.” Unlike the rest of the municipality, which, according to the newspapers, still wasn’t fully rebuilt. “What exactly are you thinking about?”

“I’m just wondering what Donna’s doing right now,” she explained. “Are the queues in the coffee shops still as bad as they were in our day? Have they fixed the heating and aircon yet? Have the potholes on Central Alley been filled in? She doesn’t tell me about stuff like that, so I’m curious.”

“I just can’t believe they made textbooks free,” Theodosius said, “but then again, when you get rid of corruption, the budget does tend to increase.”

Li nearly dropped his project. “A strange statement, given your own past.”

Theodosius leapt to defend himself, and Donna tuned out again. He could easily deal with this kind of attack, and if the argument drifted towards a different topic, she’d notice. Instead, she tried to imagine herself in the library. Despite knowing that technology had changed much since her days, she could only picture it as it had been back when Dem had quizzed her on organic chemistry and fed her cookies. She could even remember the quiet background hum and the whisper of the turning of pages. 

Maybe her daughter was in the library right now, studying with her friends. Maybe they sat on the same carpet as they studied for the same classes, though, of course, they would be on their laptops. Her daughter had described a few of her friends in a letter. Some of them wouldn’t have been able to even dream of an education before the Rebellion, but now, they were studying at Panem’s most prestigious university. 

And there was one person Donna could tell her daughter had a particular interest in, though she hadn’t done anything so far to act on it and had acted shocked when Donna had brought it up, as if it wasn’t obvious from the fact that she had written as much about this Daeho as about all of her other friends put together. Daeho, who was the same age as her daughter, was majoring in chemistry and had lived in the Wilds until his parents, who had defected from Five a few years before his birth, had decided to return after the Rebellion. Donna even knew about his entire plans for life, though ‘researcher’ was not a very precise ambition. Still, he was just in his first year. The fact that he was even confident that he had picked the right major set him ahead of quite a lot of his peers.

“-the fact remains, though, that our cases were purely political!” Katz was saying.

“Really?” Donna asked sarcastically. “I didn’t see Lophand up there judging us.” Lophand had been Snow’s most infamous hanging judge, willing to sentence children to death for crimes that hadn’t even been proven to have taken place. His presence at the aptly-nicknamed Judges’ Trial and execution had been most deserved.

“If you had been so offended by Lophand’s actions, why hadn’t you done anything?” Strata asked. Donna sighed. That was a question that, if rephrased slightly, could have been asked of most of them, especially the civilians. Many of her fellow inmates got tangled in two simple sentences if they tried to answer it. They claimed they hadn’t quit/retired/asked to be reassigned out of a desire to mitigate the situation, and when asked why they hadn’t done so, replied that doing so had been impossible. Donna, however, didn’t want to mess around with evasion.

“Because I hadn’t been offended by them back then,” she explained.

Strata looked taken aback for a second, but recovered quickly. “Do you have a single opinion that isn’t dictated by whoever is in power?” she asked.

“I don’t see how my dislike of eating the same thing five meals in a row is dictated by the administration,” Donna joked. “Although, in a way, I suppose they’re the ones creating the conditions for said dislike, and thus forcing us to dislike their food.” Everyone laughed at that, even Strata, and glanced at Holder, who was sitting in the corner and crocheting intently. 

“And once, I thought the food in the university cafeteria was bad,” Theodosius said. “Maybe I should have just accepted the three-hour commute.”

“But then, you wouldn’t have been prepared for this,” said Donna, whose commute had been a much more modest one and a half hours. 

“I don’t see what you’re complaining about,” Katz said. “It’s not very fun to eat the same thing over and over, but at least it’s quality.”

“I can’t wait to actually eat what I want,” Leta said to Drape.

“Same,” Leta replied. “It’s not that the food here is bad, but I want to be able to choose.” She readjusted the project in her lap. “I wonder what it will be like, eating with a knife and fork again.”

Donna’s little group had meanwhile managed to get back to the topic of Yark. “It’s interesting, how much of the opposition to the abolition of the death penalty was motivated chiefly by us,” Li said, not for the first time.

“And if Yark wasn’t executed, that would infuriate them,” Katz said. “You know better than I do about how much power public opinion has in a democracy.”

“Yes,” said Li, “but you know better than I that people get used to things quickly. As long as you don’t escalate too quickly or threaten them personally, the new normal quickly becomes, well, _normal_.”

Stein looked intrigued by that. He paused, hand frozen in mid-air. “Where did you read that?” he asked as he resumed weaving in the ends.

“All over the place,” Li replied. He rattled off a list of books, some of which Donna had read. “Most of these books tend to focus on the sinister aspect of that, but you can also make the logical conclusion that changes that aren’t necessarily bad are just as easy to adapt to. In fact, it would probably be easier, since, say, the death penalty is a topic few have a personal stake in.”

Donna turned to look at him. “But attitudes towards the death penalty are indicative of a host of other things,” she pointed out. “And you’re going to end up with a situation in which every time a serial rapist is being tried, someone speaks up and says that this person deserves to be executed.”

“Deserves to be. Not _ought_ to be. There’s a difference.”

“You misunderstand my words,” Donna retorted. “I meant that there will be voices calling for its restoration.”

“Few and far between,” Li said dismissively. “You overestimate how strongly people feel about such things. All they care about is that the criminals are not in a position to commit more crimes.” Donna had once heard that the most feared out of all the Supermaxers was Li himself, as the words _Death Squad_ seemed to have a power of their own. It was strange to be reminded that this helpful middle-aged man with a passion for physical fitness was associated with all the crimes of the Death Squad, despite never having as much as punched another person. The fact that Stonesmith was mostly discussed in the context of outlandish conspiracy theories and Krechet – when talking about old gossip or the tea incident didn’t make it any easier for Donna to think the same way that the people on the outside did.

“Still,” Katz insisted, “there’s a difference between some random murderer and Yark. If not for that stroke of genius, she’d have been executed long ago. The sentence is already pronounced, it just needs to be carried out. How would it look like if they commuted her sentence out of nowhere? It would open them to accusations of the slippery slope.”

Turned sideways to talk to Katz, who was behind him, Li continued crocheting, project somehow held under one arm. “Which is precisely why I think this will happen at the same time as a general amnesty or something else to that effect,” he said. “It may not happen this year, or even the next, but eventually, there will be public support for our release, and they’ll sneak Yark in there as well.”

“Chances don’t look too good so far,” Donna pointed out. “My lawyer isn’t exactly optimistic.”

“It’s not like he can be truthful in his letters,” Stein said, making a point that would have been much more accurate had they all not been pretending to not have secret channels of communication. “What sort of communication can you even have with your lawyer when you’re not allowed to ask them to challenge any aspect of your sentence? And they didn’t even let me see the materials of my case!”

That was valid, if, once again, the clandestine letters were not taken into account. “That’s true,” Donna said. “The only thing he ever says is vague words about how the climate is. Half the time, I think he’s talking about long-term weather patterns.”

Once the chuckling subsided, Theodosius rehashed his complaints about how much effort he had been forced to put into something as simple as signing a power of attorney for his Depuration hearings. Donna had done so during the trial, as a Depuration tribunal had decided that Dem and she were one unit when it came to everything and thus he could be tried instead of her, even though he had never worked or been active in politics in his life.

“And how are the long-term weather patterns?” Strata asked.

“Not cooling down, but at least the warming has stopped.” Donna paused her crocheting to count how many rows she had done. She wasn’t even halfway there.

“My lawyer says we might have a chance in the foreseeable future,” Katz said.

“My lawyer says there’s a book about him,” Salperin said from the row behind hers. “I wasn’t allowed to get it, though.” Donna made a mental note to ask in a few days, when he would be done reading it, as everyone turned to face him.

“Any details?” Katz asked, speaking for all of them.

Salperin leaned sideways slightly, though Gold and Netter, who were sitting on that side, blocked any meaningful movement. “Someone noticed that my lawyer has the same first name as two lawyers from important historical cases, which somehow led them to write a book that’s an overview of the trials, focused on the defense lawyers’ point of view.” He leaned towards them even more, nearly falling off the bench. “I’m going to try to ask for a book that’ll explain to me who these Hans Irmy and Hans Fläschner were.” He turned towards Donna and Theodosius. “Did you ever hear about either of them?”

Shaking his head, Theodosius explained that “We weren’t even told the details of some precedent or another, much less the name of a defense lawyer.”

“Still,” Gold chimed in, “you’d have heard more than we did.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Donna said. “They must have mentioned Tokyo a hundred times, and I still have no idea what exactly happened there. I’m not quite sure why they brought up international tribunals so much when ours was so obviously national.”

“Tokyo?” Strata asked. “It doesn’t sound like the place for something like that.” 

As far as Donna could tell, Japan was too busy pretending that the rest of the world didn’t exist to get tangled up in an international enterprise like that. She nodded in response to Strata’s words. “Now it isn’t, but this was a pre-Cataclysm trial. That much, I figured out.” The defense lawyers had constantly discussed some precedent or other, never slowing to explain it to their clients.

“Says a lot about our trials when the prosecution needed to go so far back to find something to support their cases,” Katz said. “If something was widespread before the Cataclysm, that doesn’t say anything good about it.”

“Says a lot that we’re not allowed to say that to our lawyers,” Li added darkly. Salperin had meanwhile leaned back in his seat and was whispering with his neighbours in a voice so quiet, Donna couldn’t hear them.

* * *

When they went for their afternoon walk, the entertainment was provided by Vartha and Hatcher sniping at each other. Donna and Theodosius walked a short distance behind them, not so close that they could be considered part of the conversation, but still close enough to hear clearly. The howling wind didn’t make that any easier. It was also snowing, and a few of the less sure-footed inmates preferred to just stand against the wall and complain about the weather.

“No offense, Mr. Hatcher,” Vartha said as he pulled up his scarf, “but I do not believe we should have received such different sentences.”

Hatcher briefly turned away from Vartha to adjust his own scarf. All of the inmates were by now supplied with scarves and warm gloves and socks by their families. “There is nothing to be offended by,” he said. “Both of us should be walking out of here in April.”

“Neither of us should have been here in the first place,” Vartha grumbled.

“That is very true.” They fell silent for a while. Donna pulled her cap lower to shield her face, the little of it that wasn’t covered with the scarf, from the wind, before quickly shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. Theodosius looked like he was in South America.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Oh,” Donna replied, feeling disappointed. “I thought you were somewhere else.”

Theodosius turned to face her as a particularly powerful gust of wind hit them in the side. “I am,” he said, “but I wasn’t really thinking about anything, though.”

“I wish I could do that,” Donna admitted. “Even when I zone out, there’s always something going through my mind.”

“What’s going through it right now?”

Another blast of wind made them both cringe and try to turn to put their backs to it. “The way Drape and Leta are carrying on about their families, that’s going through my head, too,” she explained. “I told you during work, about how I’m thinking about the university.”

“I do wonder what my kids are doing right now,” Theodosius said. “They’re in school right now, but that’s all I know.”

“Knowing more just makes it worse,” Donna pointed out. “It’s hard to be here, cut off so completely from them, when I know so much about the Chemistry professor, icy roads on campus, and Daeho.” An entire world, an entire life, so utterly out of her grasp. The more her children told her, the sharper the realization that there was so much more she did not, and could not, know.

Theodosius looked at her with a sad smile. “We know all about Chemistry professors and icy roads without Donna, we had them in our day, too. In fact, I wouldn’t be too amazed to find out that the same people are supposed to be teaching chemistry and de-icing roads as back when we had been students. And we met our spouses at uni as well.”

“She’s all grown up now,” Donna said with a sigh. “She’ll be an adult in just a few months. I can’t believe that we’ve been in here since she was twelve.”

Nodding, Theodosius raised his head to stare at the sky, heedless of the snow that pelted his face with little icy needles. “It’s going to be six years soon.” A snowflake fell into his eye, and he blinked repeatedly, reaching up to rub his eye with a gloved hand. “I wish Dr. Levi would hurry up already,” he said. “I’m sick of this place.”

“Same,” Donna said vehemently as Vartha and Hatcher continued arguing. They weren’t even saying anything contradictory to what the other was saying, and yet they were still somehow arguing. “There is no way this can keep up for much longer,” she added.

Back inside, the same conversations resumed. Drape and Leta were counting down the hours until they saw their families, Li and Katz argued about Yark, Salperin was telling war stories, and everyone was annoyed by Hryb.

“If he tries screaming again,” Stein said in a threatening tone, “I will personally throttle him.”

“You think that’ll help?” Katz sceptically asked.

Verdant was carefully bending and unbending his bad leg. “What he needs is some proper discipline,” he said. “A shame I don’t have command over him.” He sounded as if that was the fault of the administration, even though before, Hryb as an extremely well-connected Gamemaker would have been able to do pretty much anything to the commander of the Coast Guard, no matter how fanatically devoted the latter was.

“I think he’s immune to discipline,” Katz said darkly. “If the entire administration can’t make him get out of bed in the morning-” she threw her hands in the air before resuming work.

Strata nodded along. “Honestly, a part of me has to respect anyone who can stick it to the administration like that. Imagine how bad this would make them look if it got out!”

Given the amount of gossip that was out there, ranging from the merely inane to the completely insane, Donna doubted that anything could make them look any worse than they already did. A part of her welcomed it, as the more discreditation, the better the chances of it all falling apart, but she didn’t relish the potential prospect of the administration simply tightening the screws. After all, the silence rule was still officially on the books, and could be enforced at any moment. “Probably not as bad as when someone leaked the rules and implied that they were being followed to the letter,” she pointed out.

Everyone shuddered slightly at the mere suggestion. “That was back when the average person would have approved,” Li pointed out. “Now, though, the situation is different. Especially with the upcoming elections.”

“That should be interesting,” Theodosius said. “Has it been announced who’ll be running from Paylor’s party?”

Nobody said anything. “I haven’t heard anything new,” Li said. “I must admit, though, I am very pleased at Paylor’s decision. Few people have voluntarily given up power like that.”

“Won’t she just hang around in an unofficial role?” Strata asked. “Maybe she’ll just pretend to retire.”

“And pretend to move back to Eight?” he pointed out. “I think she’s sincere there.”

Donna imagined Snow willingly stepping down. The mental image refused to form. “If in nothing else, you have to recognize that this is an improvement. Can you imagine Snow just appearing on television and saying ‘I am retiring’?”

“He wouldn’t have been Snow in that case,” Theodosius pointed out. “What made Snow Snow was the way that nothing was allowed to get between him and absolute power.”

Strata nodded. “I’ve told you about how, growing up, I thought that ‘president’ was something you were appointed to for life, right?” Everyone made sounds of assent. “I agree with Mrs. Blues,” she said. “I think this is a step in the right direction.”

“Same,” Katz said. “At the end of the day, Snow had to fall. The children we trained to kill so that slightly younger children wouldn’t die demanded nothing less from their graves. I just don’t see why we were dragged down with him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hryb isn’t getting his ideas from anywhere, but a few of the better-read guards are worried he’s a Rudolf Hess 2.0. I can elaborate on that if you want.
> 
> Yes, the fact that the inmates can’t challenge any aspect of their sentences, communicate openly with lawyers, or access their own case material is highly illegal. The Supermax, however, is a unique institution not subject to any national or Capitol laws. The administration can do literally anything, and the individual directors answer only to their District governments. The Inter-District Committee was supposed to provide that oversight, but it collapsed, leaving the prison in an awkward state of limbo. 
> 
> Hans Irmy is by no means well-known, so don’t worry if you didn’t recognize the name. In 1474, he defended Peter von Hagenbach at what can be argued to have been the first ever international tribunal. There’s a chapter about that trial in the book _The Hidden Histories of War Crimes Trials_ , which is available online for free if you do some poking around. Hans Flaeschner is slightly better known - he defended Albert Speer at the Nuremberg Trial of the Major War Criminals. There’s a book about the defense lawyers at Nuremberg, but it’s only in German. If anyone wants reading material on the trial, I can provide you with some.


	48. To Run

At breakfast, everyone stood in line with bated breath, waiting for the appearance of the new director. Nobody even knew which District they were from, so they were all eager for information. Donna craned her neck, waiting for the sound of footsteps.

When it came, everyone tensed up. Several guards approached, as well as the new director. The middle-aged dark woman appeared to be utterly shocked by something. She stared at the queue as if the inmates were clutching guns instead of caps. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked the warden in a cold tone.

“What are you referring to, Director?” the warden asked, clearly perplexed.

“This,” she said, gesturing at the inmates. “Thirty inmates, standing in the middle of the corridor doing as they please! They could overpower you and take your keys at any moment!”

In front of Donna, Hope was clearly discovering this for the first time. The older woman glanced around the queue with a sceptical expression.

“This is how we’ve always done things, Director,” the warden said in an apologetic tone. “To do it any other way would take too long. Perhaps you should take this up at the weekly meetings.”

The director shot them another suspicious and oddly fearful glance. “I will,” she said. She then turned around, unlocked the gate, and left. Immediately, the inmates sagged slightly and put their caps back on as the breakfast began to be handed out.

In her cell, Donna ate the oatmeal and apple, drank her tea, and read the newspapers. Nothing too crazy. Politicians made speeches, child soldiers were being used in the civil war in England, and that pie recipe looked very tasty. After cleaning her cell, Donna sat back down to read a few more pages until it was time to hand back the broom and cloth. When she wasn’t ordered to mop the corridor, she practically ran outside to talk to Theodosius about the new director.

“Did she visit you, too?” she asked him immediately. 

Theodosius nodded. “She upbraided Kadka for so long after she overheard him say something insulting about Eleven, our food got cold.” Donna made a mental note to tell all the women about this as soon as possible. She didn’t want to have to eat cold food because someone (and it would probably be one of the former functionaries) couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

“For us,” Donna said, “she told the warden that having us all queue for breakfast is a security risk, because apparently we can overpower the guards and take away their keys.”

Giggling, Theodosius looked around the yard. “I somehow doubt that.”

The security risk number one meanwhile ran past them, kicking up dirt and gravel. Donna tried to brush the dirt off her trousers, succeeding in only smearing it everywhere. She wanted to tell Li to be more careful, but he was already too far away. “Same,” Donna continued. “Then, she threatened to take up the matter at the directors’ meeting.”

“That sounds rather counterproductive,” Theodosius said.

“Well, she _is_ new,” Donna pointed out. “I doubt her briefing featured the harsh realities of the Supermax.” The new director was currently prowling around the yard, occasionally pausing to talk to a guard. “I wonder what she thinks of the fact that this place is as secure as a sieve.”

“Wouldn’t she have read all the nonsense the media says about us?” he asked. “I’m sure she’s aware of the fact that half the guards are selling information. I’m still waiting for the photos to appear. Or maybe even videos.” 

Donna watched Li run. “I don’t think I could run for ten metres at that speed,” she said, shaking her head in amazement. 

“I think I might be able to do ten,” Theodosius replied. “ _Might_.” The two of them paused to watch Li run. While he excelled in both sprint and long distance, it was in middle distances where he shone the most. The way he could maintain such high speed for a relatively long time was downright eerie, especially given that he was in his early fifties. 

Li slowed to a brisk jog, before stopping in front of them. “I’m slowing down,” he said, sounding very disappointed.

“I can only wish to be that slow,” Donna said, as Theodosius pointed out that his “slow” was probably better than an above-average man half his age.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Li said to Donna in an encouraging tone. “You’ve done running before, you just need to get back into it!”

“I used to jog just a few hundred metres from here,” Donna said, staring at the wall. 

“Exactly!”

“That was when I was young,” she pointed out. “I doubt I can as much as jog a lap.”

Li did not appear convinced by that. “With all the walking you two do, I bet you’re in much better shape than you think.” He leaned back slightly, looking at them. “Actually, Mrs. Blues, would you like to go jogging with me?” he asked shyly.

“What, right now?” she asked, confused.

“Yes! Let’s go!” Donna glanced at Theodosius, who was most definitely not interested in jogging. “Don’t worry about Mr. Coll, he’s got great cities and picturesque villages to discover. You can’t rush that!”

Theodosius nodded. “I can tell you all about it later.”

“Uh, alright.” It was looking like preparing the ground for planting would be done to the accompaniment of a monologue about the wonders of Peru. “Are you sure I won’t slow you down?” she asked Li, turning towards him.

“We can go together until you get tired, and then you can walk for a while on your own,” he said. His enthusiasm was contagious, and Donna found herself eager to start running. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah.” She began to slowly jog, careful to not go too fast. It seemed far too easy, but then again, she was only just starting. 

“How long do you want to go for?” Li asked.  
“Let’s see if I can do a single lap for now,” Donna replied, irritated at having to waste breath on talking. Her strides ate up the ground, or at least that’s what it seemed like to her after only walking for so long. She longed to go faster, to fly over the ground as some of the others did, but held back, not wanting to risk hurting herself.  
“No, I mean in general. You said you used to run ten-kilometre races, that could be a nice goal to work towards. I bet you could do it by the time autumn rolled around!”  
It had been obvious before that Li had chronic competence, but this made it personal. “I seriously doubt that, Mr. Li,” Donna said, trying not to show her irritation. Her body simply didn’t work that way, and she had thought she was used to it, but Li’s words had reminded her of the fact that it was simply too late to change things to that extent. “Maybe next year,” she added in a kinder tone.  
“That would still be nice.”  
Donna nodded and smiled at him, but said nothing. She was beginning to feel tired, and there was a painful stitch in her side. A lap of the path was a little bit over a kilometre. Was she really so out of shape as to be unable to run a single kilometre? Donna gritted her teeth and massaged her side, not slowing down as it was impossible to do so without switching to a walk. Her throat was painfully sore from the cold air.  
“Great,” Hatcher grumbled loudly as they approached him, West, and the other Smith. “It’s bad enough the Peacekeepers think the yard is their personal gym, now there’s you, too.” Donna shrugged, saying nothing. His release was in less than a week, and he was not taking it well. She had read that long-term prisoners were often reluctant to leave prison, and even experienced breakdowns sometimes. If five years (plus two years of incarceration and trial before that) was considered long-term, what was she?  
The thoughts disappeared almost instantly as Donna became too distracted by the pain in her side and her legs felt like they wouldn’t carry her anymore. She’d need to tell Dr. Chu about that. “You’re doing great!” Li said. “I told you you’re better than you think.”  
Donna did not respond, as she was too focused on the place where they had started. It wasn’t too far away now, just a straight line from here to there. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit more. Donna slowed to a stop early, hoping Li wouldn’t notice, and bent over, clutching at her side. “You alright?” he asked.  
“It’ll go away in a minute or so,” she gasped. “You keep on going.”  
Li nodded and was immediately off at a speed that had to be at least twice that of hers. Slowly, Donna began to walk towards Theodosius, who was talking to the new director. A piece of long-forgotten knowledge came back to her as she carefully breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. It didn’t make her throat feel better, though.  
“-that’s not even the extent of it!” Theodosius was saying in an excited tone. The new director looked bored and horrified at the same time. “Did you know that there are more than _four thousand_ types of potatoes grown in Peru? And we only eat a tiny handful here!”  
“Where are you now?” Donna asked, breath now mostly under control, as she doffed her cap.  
“Approaching Tarapoto,” he replied. “I think I’ll get there tomorrow, unless the weather turns bad.” He glanced at the overcast sky.  
The director now looked confused, in addition to growing even more bored and horrified. “You’re in Peru?” she asked in an incredulous tone.  
“Yes, Director,” Theodosius said.  
“But you’re here!” the director insisted.  
“Yes,” Theodosius said. There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Director, I didn’t mean to confuse you. It’s just that I’m on a trip around the world. It helps me stay sane.”  
“Very interesting,” she said tonelessly. She turned to Donna. “I’ve heard about you, too.”  
Donna nodded, clutching her cap with both hands. “Yes, Director.”  
“You run?” she asked.  
“I used to, back in school. I just started again. Mr. Li-”  
“His name’s Male Twenty-Seven,” the director snapped.   
Staring at the ground, Donna wished the director would go away. She was still breathing heavily, and her heart was beating furiously. “Male Twenty-Seven persuaded me to pick it back up,” she said. “He’s very good at running.”  
“I noticed,” the director said icily, watching Li. “Very well then. Female Nine, Male Fifteen, you’re dismissed.” Donna and Theodosius put their caps back on and continued walking.  
“How was that?” he asked as soon as the director was out of earshot.  
“It’s nice to have my heartbeat sped up not as a result of a panic attack,” Donna said. “You?”  
Theodosius glanced back to where the director was talking to a guard from her own District. “She thinks I’m crazy,” he complained.  
“Why?” Donna wiped her face with a sleeve, shivering. The light breeze was cold against her sweaty skin. The rest of her, too, was cooling down rapidly. Too late, she realized she should have taken off her sweater before running.  
“I don’t know,” he said. “She asked me what I’m up to, so I started explaining about the potatoes.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Maybe I got carried away. Did you like the run?” he asked, looking at her.  
“Yes. It was nice to not have to think for a while, though I’ll probably be very sore tomorrow.” Her legs felt oddly tired. “I think I’ll do it again tomorrow.”  
“Is there a particular goal you want to achieve?”  
“I want to run ten kilometres without stopping. Well, ten laps, actually, it’ll be easier to keep track of that way.”  
Theodosius looked thoughtful. “How long do you think it will take you?”  
“Hopefully not too long, but it’ll probably be a year at least.”  
“And then what?”  
It seemed to Donna that planning too far ahead was pointless when she didn’t know what sort of progress to expect. “I’ll think about it if I manage to actually run ten laps,” she said. “Maybe my knees will give out, or something.” She’d need to ask the orderly about whether it was safe to run every day like that.  
“That’s nice,” Theodosius said. “Now we both have goals to work toward. Are you going to tell your family about this?”  
“I’ll try, but it might be forbidden.” Physical activity was technically in the same field as health, so it was possible that the censors might be opposed.  
Theodosius took four pebbles out of his pocket and began to juggle them as he walked. “Of course,” he said, and smiled at her.

* * *

As Donna and Theodosius walked around after lunch, one of the guards pulled them aside. “Read this,” she said, shoving a large newspaper article in their direction. 

“Thank you,” they replied, positioning themselves to hide what they were doing. As Donna read, she understood why the new director was so unhappy. This was a blatant call for the immediate overturn of the convictions of all the industrialists! 

Donna was furious. With the connections she had, shouldn’t she also be included? How was she any different from any other engineer who had merely happened to work for a corporation instead of the Games? It didn’t seem fair that there was support for them, and only them. On the other hand, though, perhaps Dr. Fisher could use this. There had to be a way to spin it to her advantage.

“I wonder what Hatcher will think of this,” Theodosius said.

“He already knows,” the guard replied. “I thought he was going to explode.” She shook her head, looking irritated, though Donna could sympathize with Hatcher. For him, this was long overdue to say the least. “What do you two think?”

“What do the opponents of this say?” Theodosius asked.

The guard raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Um, they point out that this is revisionism. Also, they complain that nothing has really changed in industry.” Donna could see where that was coming from. Only the Steelworks had been broken up, and while the Chaterhans and Flicks had all been executed or put behind bars, new people had been simply promoted in their place.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Theodosius pointed out, glancing at Vartha, who was walking towards them from the opposite direction. “Look at how conditions have changed.”

“As far as I can tell, the same people still have the same jobs,” the guard pointed out. “They picked a few scapegoats, sure, but what’s the point of chopping off a head when it will just grow back?”

If Chaterhan and Flick and the rest of the former directors and owners of huge conglomerates that had practically owned entire Districts counted as scapegoats, the meaning of the word had clearly changed in recent years. “You could say the same about the armed forces,” Donna said. In fact, she herself was, in a way, the scapegoat for everyone involved in the technical side of the Games. Command responsibility was not just a military term.

“The armed forces and police run background checks. White-collar jobs do not, or at least not to that extent. Look at how many scandals there are!”

Theodosius looked sceptical. “I haven’t heard of any scandals.”

The guard proceeded to go on a harangue about the frequency at which high-ranking civil servants and industrialists were fired due to not having been depurated yet. “It’s a disgrace that you’re not kept informed about this,” she said. She looked furious.

Privately, Donna agreed, but she wasn’t going to criticize the administration in front of a guard. “What would you say is necessary?” she asked instead. A little flattery never hurt.

“The entire system needs to be changed!” the guard snapped. “Look at the low sentences the industrialists got. Executing the ringleaders was a good symbolic act, I’ll give them that, but otherwise, it’s the same old system, just with different faces.” She looked around before continuing. “I’m telling you, they should have been more decisive instead of pandering to big business.”

Donna had read similar arguments in a few of her books, about how the modern economic system was untenable. In her opinion, the issue was less with the system and more with the way it was implemented, but she didn’t want to start a political argument with a _guard_. “Interesting,” she said instead. Theodosius hummed something like agreement. Of course, the guard’s statement that the sentences had been too light made Donna grit her teeth in silent fury. Was she implying that several of the people in here should have been executed? That was completely unprofessional. And in Donna’s opinion, the only way to consider the sentences handed out at the Steelworks, Electrical Works, and other industrialists’ trials too light would be to compare them to that of the key criminals, who had been practically handpicked to ensure that only the guiltiest reached the dock, Slice notwithstanding.

“I must admit, though, things have changed,” the guard said. “I used to work in a factory myself, you know. District Centre of Eight. From what I hear, it’s night and day compared to what it was like before.”

“We’ve heard about that,” Theodosius said awkwardly, having been the setter of quotas for years. 

The guard appeared to realize something. She glanced down at his knee, and then at Donna’s. Had she only just recognized them now? ”I’m sure you have,” she said. “Dismissed.”

Donna and Theodosius put their caps back on and continued walking. After standing for a while, Donna’s legs protested at the movement. “That’s interesting,” Donna said again. “One person thinks they were too harsh. Another thinks they weren’t harsh enough.”

“Remember how Chaterhan complained about how the Rebellion was biased against the rich?” Theodosius asked. As the director of the Steelworks, Chaterhan (or rather, his grandmother, Alexandra Chaterhan) had practically owned several Districts. 

That had been a common refrain for him. Both of the Chaterhans had been supposed to be indicted as key criminals, though Alexandra Chaterhan had never faced trial due to being over a hundred years old and dying. Antonius Chaterhan had ended up being industry’s sole representative in that dock, which hadn’t stopped him from complaining that the name and not the person was being judged. “It would be hard to forget,” Donna said, “especially with how everyone was running around acting like the trial would fail if they didn’t indict Antonius Chaterhan.” While she had never seen or heard anything of the sort, Dr. Fisher had from time to time told her about what was going on behind the scenes.

“I once overheard a guard telling another guard that not trying him as a key criminal would lead to revanchism within the next two years.” Theodosius shoved his hands inside his pockets. 

That was oddly specific. “Do you know why?”

“No.” There was a pause. “I think he was just fearmongering.”

They walked in silence for a little while. “I wonder what it means that newspapers can openly call for our release, or at least the release of some of us,” Donna mused. “If big business wants something but the average person doesn’t - we’ll see who has more power during the elections.”

“Or maybe big business is thinking along the same line as the average person,” Theodosius pointed out.

“I doubt that, especially when it comes to the outer Districts.” They were not going to have any sympathy for the industrialists there. “And, for all we know, this article was immediately followed by a lengthy counter-argument. Or maybe one was published the next day.” Free speech may have existed, but they didn’t have access to all the viewpoints in the Supermax.

Theodosius ran a hand through his hair before putting it back into his pocket. “I wish we had access to news from there,” he said. “We don’t know what they’re actually thinking.” He sounded upset by that.

“We’ll know when the electoral statistics are published,” Donna tried to console him. “I wonder if things will change much since the previous time.”

“They’ll have to. For starters, Paylor won’t be running.” 

“Do you know when was the last time that we had a head of state step down of their own volition?” she asked. “It was more than a hundred years ago, but I don’t know exactly when or who.” Trying to read about that time period was nearly impossible, as all of the books in the public library system that covered it also talked about later years, and were thus forbidden.

Theodosius shook his head. “No idea,” he said.

At that moment, Vartha approached them, flanked by Andrews and Torres. “Do either of you have any idea why the new director would ask me if Hryb’s planning to lose his memory next?” he asked. The five of them stopped walking and moved off the path.

“Maybe she thinks he’s pretending to be crazy so he can get released early?” Donna suggested.

Vartha sighed. “Everyone knows that much. But why specifically memory loss? Is it just because if it was real, it would be a guarantee of release?”

“What was the context?” Theodosius wanted to know.

Torres leapt to explain, stepping forward slightly so he wasn’t behind Vartha. “She was talking to us while we were standing close to Hryb.” Hryb was currently sitting on a bench and reading a book. “She asked us about his behaviour. When we told her about the psychosomatic headaches, she looked like she was about to have a heart attack, and asked if he was planning to lose his memory next.”

Surprisingly enough, there was a rational explanation to this. “I think she’s worried about brain cancer,” Donna realized. “She thinks they might have missed a small tumor, which she believes to be the cause of the headaches, and worries that it might get worse and result in further damage to the brain, causing memory loss, which could be then used by Hryb to get out early.”

“But Townsend didn’t have memory loss,” Vartha pointed out. “Why would she leap to that conclusion?”

“Because it’s the least desirable outcome for her,” Theodosius explained. “If he were to lose the ability to understand why he’s here, even the administration would have to release him. Otherwise, public opinion would turn against them.”

Torres looked pensive. “That actually makes sense,” he said. Donna was also surprised by how logical the chain of events was. She still felt like she was missing something, as she always did, but she felt quite confident in her analysis. “I don’t think there’s something physically wrong with him, though.”

“Me neither,” Donna agreed. “Although I can easily imagine Hryb faking memory loss just to annoy everyone.”

Everyone shuddered at that. “Don’t give him ideas,” Vartha said. “I wouldn’t want to deal with that.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Well, thank you very much for clearing things up for us.”

“You’re welcome.” They continued walking together. 

“I saw you were talking to a guard,” Vartha said. 

“We were,” Donna said. “She showed us an article in which someone calls for your immediate release.” She waved a hand in the direction of the three of them.

Andrews stood up a little bit straighter at the news. “I knew it,” he said.

“What exactly did it say?” Torres asked, leaning in closer. 

“That imprisoning you for just doing your jobs is wrong because you didn’t do anything that corporations in other countries don’t do.” That was utterly false, but Donna wasn’t going to complain if she could convince the decision-makers to accept that this also applied to her.

“And that’s a fact,” Torres stated, making a sharp gesture. “How was it received?”

“We don’t know,” Theodosius said. “We were just discussing that between ourselves.” 

“Personally, I think that the mere fact of this getting published is indicative of a change in attitude.” Vartha sounded utterly convinced.

Donna shook her head. “Not necessarily,” she said. “Maybe this was a very unpopular argument that was universally condemned. I hope not, but it’s possible.”

“Let’s hope not,” Torres said, “or we’ll be here forever at this rate.” His faith in his early release was unshakeable. “By the way, Mrs. Blues, I noticed you running a while back. Have you decided to take up jogging?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Vartha asked.

“Because it’s fun,” Donna replied. “I have forgotten how delightful it is to run.”

Andrews cracked a small smile. “Are you trying to run away from your problems?” he asked in a playful tone.

“If that was possible,” Donna retorted, “we’d all be faster than Li by now.”

“By the way,” Theodosius said, “the new director talked to me while I was alone.”

“We know,” Vartha said. They stepped around a patch of slippery mud. “You told her about potatoes in Peru?”

“She did ask. And it’s a fascinating topic.”

Vartha rubbed his face with a hand. “She probably thinks she was assigned to a mental hospital,” he said. 

“What’s wrong with potatoes?” Donna asked, leaping to Theodosius’ defense. “Plenty of guards ask us what we’re reading about.”

“Yes, but I somehow doubt that’s what she expected to see on her first day,” Vartha pointed out with a tinge of sarcasm.

“If she’s got complaints, she can take it up with her fellow directors.” Donna’s thigh cramped suddenly, and she tried to massage it with her hands. “Or she can go shout at the wardens some more, like at breakfast.” The men all nodded, having heard about the altercation that morning.

“Are you alright?” Theodosius asked.

“Probably,” Donna replied. “I’ll ask the orderly this evening.”

* * *

“Overall,” the orderly said, “just listen to your body. As long as you don’t try to do too much too fast, you should be fine. Anything else?”

“No,” Donna replied as she tapped her finger on a paper folder and raised her eyebrows slightly. Hopefully the orderly would understand what she meant.

“You may go,” she said. Donna got up, rejoined the guard who had been leaning against the doorpost outside and solving a crossword, and was walked back to her cell. Her legs felt slightly sore, but mostly just tired. Gratefully, she sat down on her cot and stretched out her legs. Putting on her glasses, she resumed solving sudokus, and did so until it was time to hand them back.

The next morning, Donna felt fine when she woke up, but trying to stand disabused her of that notion. Her thighs felt like they were on fire, bending her knees hurt, and even her _sides_ were painful to the touch. She went through her morning stretches slowly, careful not to hurt herself. That day, she decided not to run again, just in case. It was disappointing, but as the orderly had said, it was important not to do too much too fast.

The evening, though, gave her something to be happy about. She still felt extremely sore, but the orderly had delivered. Inside her glasses case was a small piece of thin cardboard, as well as the customary thin paper. 

_Greetings from the Supermax Resort!_ Donna began her card. _We’re all enjoying the spring weather here. I’ve taken up running around the garden. I was pleasantly surprised to find out I’m not as out of shape as I feared!_ Donna did not mention that had she tried to jog even half a kilometre in the year before her arrest, she would have failed horribly. _But then again, I used to run just a few hundred metres from here back when I was your age. Perhaps this is just a good place for me. You should ask your Dad about all the good times the two of us had exploring the nearby woods._

Donna added a few more lighthearted tidbits before drawing a picture of her and Li running, labelling both figures just in case. She was no good at drawing at all. Then, she hid the card in the glasses case and began to write. 

At this point, she was quite close to the end. Donna was now writing about her early years with the Games, and once she was done with that, she just needed to write about the sentencing. She had decided that she would end with being transferred to the Supermax, and everything that came after would be the subject of another book, one she’d write after getting out and rereading all of her clandestine letters and diary entries.

_Of course, I was fully aware of what I was working for - how could I not have been? The fact remains, though, that back then, the Games were just another part of my life. Like any other person of my background, I was upset by the death of children and yet accepted it as a sad but necessary thing that had to be done. Blinded by a purely professional sort of ambition, I managed to block out the horrific reality of what I was working on and focus instead on the issues of tunnel construction, schedule issues, steel quality, and not letting my superiors blame mishaps on me._

_Of course, this was nothing more than an attempt to justify everything to myself. I worked on the Games. Not only did I merely work, I also rose to a high position. There is no running away from that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The reason for the director’s panic about potential memory loss is that she read _Spandau: The Secret Diaries_ to prepare for her new job, which made her extremely reluctant to deal with such a PR nightmare.
> 
> The guard complaining about how the industrialists were too lightly punished has a point, but she is blissfully unaware that it could be much worse. In reality, after WW2, a grand total of 0 Nazi industrialists got executed. The likes of Alfried Krupp and Friedrich Flick were all back in their offices in a few years. Let’s just assume that in-universe, the Rebellion learned from the past. And no, the Flick I mention in the story is not related to the real-life guy. It seemed like a name befitting someone from the Capitol, and I only realized that there was a real person with that name too late.


	49. No End

“You really shouldn’t be working in this heat,” a guard from Eleven said anxiously. Donna looked up at him, wiping the sweat from her face with the back of her hand. She and Theodosius were sitting next to their potato patch and weeding lethargically. “Almost nobody else is.”

“Might as well work,” Theodosius replied with a shrug. “I can sit around and read in my cell.” Most of the others were lying under the trees in the virtually nonexistent shade, or else simply leaning against the wall. They had books or newspapers in their hands. The guards, too, were mostly sitting down.

“No, really,” the guard insisted. “What if you get heatstroke?” He sounded very concerned. “It’s over forty degrees out here, and you’re right in the sun!”

“Don’t worry,” Donna said, not sure why she was insisting. “We know how to deal with the heat. And we’ve only been out here for a little while, in any case.” It was very early in the afternoon. 

The guard looked at them weirdly. “No, really! You shouldn’t work in this heat!”

“Of course.” Donna and Theodosius climbed to their feet and headed towards the wall, where their clothes were. Both of them were shirtless and had their trousers rolled up to above the knees. The scorching-hot ground threatened to burn their bare feet, but wearing shoes was worse. Both of them were also covered with a thick layer of sunscreen, as that was preferable to the relatively heavy clothes. They sat down in the sliver of shade that it provided, and Theodosius got out his newspaper. The censors had recently realized that they could simply request the answers to the crosswords, and thus the inmates now could solve them.

“Waterfall and river near Thirteen, seven words,” Theodosius said. “Niagara.”

“You’re the geography expert here,” Cast said. She was reading a book about Ethiopian music and had an undershirt tucked into the back of her cap, just like them and everyone else. Next to her was a mostly empty bucket of water.

Next to them, Heatherson was napping. Donna leaned back against the wall, feeling the heat of the concrete against her bare neck, and closed her eyes. Now that she wasn’t working, it felt like nothing would be able to make her move. Her face felt like it was burning, but that was probably just the hot flashes. Theodosius continued to read the crossword clues out loud and then solve them himself.

“Anger, three letters - ire. Capital of Peru, four words - Lima.” Donna reached over and scooped up a handful of very warm water, pouring it on her face. “Your face looks red. Are you sure it’s not from the sun?”

Donna sat up slightly, wiping the water from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Positive.”

“Well, you’re the expert on you,” Theodosius said, laying his newspaper on the ground. “I’ll go get more water.” He picked up the bucket, upended its remaining contents over his head, and walked off, water already evaporating.

Cast looked at her over the top of her book, which was propped on her knees. “I don’t see where he gets the energy,” she said.

“Maybe he stole mine,” Donna mumbled.

“You seemed to be full of energy just now.”

Donna shook her head. “I was too tired to stop moving. I just kept on going and going.”

“Interesting.” Cast studied her for a few seconds. “How have you been feeling lately?”

“Bit down, but otherwise fine.” Since the next-youngest woman in here was seven years older than her, they all felt like it was their obligation to give Donna advice.

Turning a page, Cast continued to study her. Donna wondered what she was looking for. “For now,” she said, taking off her glasses and cleaning them on her shirt, which seemed like an exercise in futility. They were not supposed to be allowed glasses when outside their cells, but the guards didn’t bother enforcing the rule.

“I am fully aware of what is going to happen to my body, thank you very much,” Donna said acidly. “The orderly only went over it twice.” She reached for Theodosius’ newspaper, took out her own glasses case from her pocket, and put them on. The words suddenly shifted into focus. “Any updates on your eye surgery?”

“They still can’t decide whether to do it here or move me, but they’ve agreed that a Capitol doctor can be hired.” For a solid two months now, debate had been raging at the directors’ meetings on that topic. 

“And it only took them six weeks to realize that having a non-expert be in charge of laser eye surgery is a terrible idea,” Donna said with a sigh. 

Cast stretched out her legs, scratching at a dusty knee. “That’s the administration for you. And the right of veto. Who even thought that it’s possible to make thirteen people unanimously agree on anything?”

In the distance, Theodosius was walking back, bucket on his head. “Maybe that was the point,” Donna mused. “Why go through the hassle of changing the rules when you can just have the guards not enforce them? That way, the public is placated, and we can read outside.” She held up the newspaper for emphasis.

“Yes, but when it comes to other things, it’s like it was deliberately designed to permit no change,” Cast pointed out. “Look at how many people are clamouring for our release! But as long as one director says ‘no’, we’re in here.” She was right. The industrialists especially had a wide base of support, but all of the forces of worldwide capitalism were powerless before a handful of directors representing their Districts.

Flipping through the pages, Donna tried to read between the lines. Lone blacked-out sentences tantalized her, especially when she thought she could figure out what they probably said. “It’s even worse because of how we affect the other Games criminals,” she pointed out. “Nobody’s getting released early _anywhere_ , because they look to here for guidance.”

“Exactly!” Cast exclaimed. “The federal government needs us and our expertise, but they can’t release us because of how much they’ve played us up as a symbol. It’s a problem entirely of their own making.”

Donna didn’t think it was right to go that far. “I don’t think that what Dimmers said made the situation any better, though.” He had recently complained publicly about not being re-hired to his old position. “He should have stayed quiet like the rest.”

“He was fully justified in complaining!”

“I agree, but he should have thought about how that would reflect on us.”

Cast looked sceptical, but then again, she had less than a year left. To her, it didn’t matter anymore.

“I’m back,” Theodosius said, lowering the bucket to the ground. His cap and trousers were drenched with water, but his skin was mostly dry already. Dipping her hands into the tepid water, Donna thanked him and poured handfuls over herself. “What were you discussing?”

“Dimmers.”

A grimace of fury flickered over his face before settling into an expression of vague irritation. “Couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?” Theodosius complained as he sat down in front of them, forming a sort of triangle. “That’s not going to help our case.” Turning to Cast he added, “Please, when you get out, be more careful.”

“I’m sure Dimmers just wanted the best for all of us. He’s not the only one with that problem, after all.”

“That’s true,” Donna conceded, “but he just set everyone against us even more.” The last thing she needed right now was for someone else to open their mouth and turn public opinion against them all over again.

Theodosius took off his cap, poured a handful of water over his head, and sighed. “Last night, I dreamt I was drowning,” he said.

“Drowning in what? Dust?” Donna asked, running her hands over the cracked ground. They were sitting in the officially-forbidden strip of ground that preceded the wall. Nothing was allowed to grow there, resulting in the dust that stuck to Donna’s hands as she folded her arms on her chest and leaned against the wall.

Picking up his newspaper and pen, Theodosius chuckled. “No, water. Perhaps my subconscious is that desperate for it to stop being so hot.”

“What happened in the dream?” Cast asked.

“The usual nonsense,” Theodosius shrugged. “I dreamt I was drowning far away from shore. My wife was standing there, and I was trying to reach her. Then, all of a sudden, she picked me up somehow and hugged me.” He wrapped his arms around his chest. “Also, Snow was there for some reason.”

“Huh,” Donna said. 

“I’m not quite sure how to interpret it. Maybe my brain thinks my wife somehow saved me? Or saves me?” Theodosius stared intently at the arts and culture section of the newspaper.

“How does Snow fit into that, though?” Cast asked with a befuddled expression.

“Maybe his wife can be thanked for saving him from Snow?” Donna suggested. 

Cast closed her book, marking her place with a finger, and shifted slightly so that she faced them. “You dream of Snow a lot,” she said.

“When in jail, a bunch of us dreamt of Warden Vance,” Theodosius said, changing the topic. 

“Wait, what?”

Donna quickly explained. “For a while, he was the only person we saw every day, so we began to associate the entire situation with him. And since a few of us hated and feared him, it was reflected in their dreams.”

Since Cast had only seen him once or twice, she didn’t quite grasp what it had meant to Donna and Theodosius to interact with the warden daily. He had been responsible only for the key criminals, and had in fact quit almost immediately after the sentences had been carried out. The rest of her fellow inmates had barely interacted with him. “From the book by Aurelius and Mallow,” Cast said, “he doesn’t sound like someone I’d want guarding me. Tiller was sloppy, but at least she didn’t badmouth us to the psychologist.”

Donna snorted. “I bet you that she did, you just don’t know about it yet.”

“As long as I don’t know about it, I don’t care.” Cast opened her book, but didn’t continue reading. 

“Russian composer, a lot of letters,” Theodosius said.

Reaching over, Cast took the newspaper and pen from him. “It’ll be easier if I just write it,” she explained, penning in the answer.

“Thanks,” Theodosius said, taking it back. He glanced at the answer. “I don’t think I can pronounce that.”

“Then how will you manage when you get there?” Donna asked. “You won’t even be able to ask for directions.”

“I’ll learn it by that point,” he said. “For now, I’m still in South America.”

Cast raised her eyebrows slightly at him. “Have you seen Stonesmith lately?,” she deadpanned. Donna and Theodosius laughed. While the rest of the world had long since forgotten about the former head of the Death Squad, they were still joking about it in the Supermax.

“No,” Theodosius replied in an equally flat voice. “Clearly, she is in Germany.” Donna had never heard of rumours placing her there, but there had been so many, Stonesmith must have needed to get a new passport just to fit in all of the visas required to visit all those countries. She said as much, to appreciative chuckling.

“What even _is_ going on there?” Cast asked. “ _The World_ only talks about Europe when a war starts or ends. Or if a dictator is overthrown.”

Theodosius shrugged. “I’ll do more reading when I get there,” he said. “I have no idea.”

“I don’t know, either,” Donna echoed him. Turning to Theodosius she added, “Ask Stonesmith when you see her.”

Cast laughed.

* * *

The next morning, when Donna stepped into the still-cool morning air, Theodosius wasn’t there. It must have been his turn to mop the corridor. Taking a few steps to the side, she took off her shirt and undershirt, folded them neatly, and put them on the ground. She didn’t take off her shoes, not yet. Jogging barefoot was simply too painful, thanks to the occasional sharp pebble. Donna set off down the path, running through her head once again what she’d say to Theodosius about the letter she had just received.

She slowly made her way around the uneven loop, left behind in the dust by all of the others who were running despite forcing herself to go a little bit faster than she wanted to. After finishing a lap, Donna slowed to a walk, and walked for another lap. She would repeat that four more times. Maybe in a few weeks, she’d replace one of the walking laps with a running one.

When she was finishing the third lap, Theodosius finally walked out of the building. She finished the lap and caught up to him, eager to finally tell him the news. “I got my letter this morning,” she said. “My parents re-wrote their will, leaving everything to Donna for now except for a few things that they want to give Alex.”

“How did your brother take it?” he asked.

“Says he’s not planning on moving back full-time in any case, and it’s not like he didn’t see it coming.” Donna held up a hand to her neck, feeling her pulse. It was oddly satisfying, to push herself to the limit.

Theodosius glanced up at the sky. He was already barefoot. Donna’s own feet felt like sausages being boiled, but she didn’t want to risk stepping on a sharp stone at a relatively high speed. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing. “It’s a cloud.”

The cloud was a few small whitish ripples on the horizon. “That’s not going to provide much shade.”

“When’s it going to rain already?” Theodosius asked the sky. “There’s a limit to how often we can carry the watering cans back and forth!” Turning to Donna he asked, “What else did they write about?”

“Nothing of extreme importance,” Donna replied, rolling up her trouser legs. “Laelia has discovered pre-Cataclysm science-fiction and is now on a quest to read that entire section in the school library.”

“That’s nice,” Theodosius said with a smile. “How far has she gotten?”

“Not very. Though she is already asking to be taken to the public library, to see if there’s anything interesting there.” She had also sent in a list of the books she currently had taken out. Donna was planning to read every single one of them, so that she could finally have a decent conversation about books with her youngest daughter.

Theodosius looked pensive. “That’s nice,” he said again. “How did Donna take to the news?”

“They didn’t say.” Donna thought for a few seconds. “I don’t think it was a surprise for her,” she eventually said. “After all, my parents literally stated back then that they’d re-write their will once Donna came of age.” Her eldest had turned nineteen last month. “I can’t believe it’s already been so long since then.”

“That it is,” Theodosius said, staring at the little cloud on the horizon. 

Donna also stared at the cloud. “It looks very fluffy.”

“I actually read a poem about a cloud,” Theodosius said, “though it was very badly translated.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“It’s in my cell, I can bring it out this afternoon if you want.” He ran a hand through his hair, holding his cap in place with the other. “The poem isn’t the main focus, though. It’s a story about two little boys living in an orphanage during a war.” That was absolutely not what Theodosius typically read. Donna’s confusion must have shown on her face, for he explained, “Verdant gave it to me. He thought it was going to be about soldiers on the front, and was very confused when he read the summary. He read it, though, and says it’s amazing.” Asking for something random from a certain category sometimes produced strange results.

Donna’s heart rate was almost back to normal. “Do you remember how the poem goes?” she asked.

“I know the first two lines. ‘A small gold cloud spent the night/on a mighty mountain’s chest’. Like I said, I think it’s just really badly translated. Barely any rhythm at all.”

That didn’t seem too bad to Donna. “I like it,” she said. “But what does that have to do with war?”

“I’m not sure yet. I just started.”

“When was the book written?” Donna asked, curious.

“It was written just a few years before the Cataclysm, and translated a few decades ago.” Theodosius put on sunscreen and gave the tube to Donna. “The author based it off his personal experiences.”

That meant that the author, who had already lived through war, either died in the Cataclysm or had to live through it. “What happened to him in the end?”

“No idea.”

It was a while until Donna was able to think of something to say. “Is the book good?” she asked, closing the tube with slightly greasy fingers.

“Yes, but very sad. And like I said, I think the translation isn’t too good.” He shrugged slightly, taking the sunscreen back from Donna and putting it in his pocket.

If it was very sad and about small children, Donna wasn’t sure she wanted to read it. “How sad?” she asked.

“Very.” Theodosius scanned the sky, looking for more clouds. “I think it’s even worse for me, because the protagonists are twin boys, and I keep on imagining my own sons in their place.” He shook his head slightly. 

Donna nodded sympathetically. “That doesn’t sound very enjoyable.”

“If one of them dies at the end, I will definitely cry.” They fell silent as Trotman jogged past. “How’s your book going?” he asked, referring to her memoirs.

“I’m almost done, actually,” Donna said. All she had left to write was a pithy conclusion. “I’ll probably finish it today.”

Bending closer to her and whispering, Theodosius said, “You’ll have to walk me through the process.”

“You also want to write?” Donna asked, surprised. He had never shown any signs of wanting to write about his life while still in here.

Theodosius nodded slightly. “I should really do it as soon as possible, before the administration catches on and stops giving us our glasses in their cases.” Donna preferred not to think about that. The potential consequences of having someone’s clandestine mail be intercepted made her shudder as she contemplated them.

If it happened to someone else, that wouldn’t be much of a problem. While their cells were semi-regularly searched, they themselves were not. The only exception was when they went to shower, as the guards would perfunctorily poke through their clothing, and since they always showered on the same day, it was easy enough to pass on any contraband before. While having to rely on the guards all over again after so long with the convenience of the glasses case would be annoying, it wouldn’t put an end to her writing. What would happen if she got caught was an entirely different story, and Donna didn’t want to even think about that.

Starting tomorrow, she would be done with her memoirs, and would only require a small scrap of paper daily. Donna decided to tell the orderly to not give her any more paper, or at least not so much. A single sheet for a few days would be satisfactory, and also lessen the risk of getting caught. On the other hand, though, half the guards carried something or other for the inmates. Even if the directors demanded stricter searches, they wouldn’t bother complying most of the time.

* * *

_During the trial and at the present moment_ , Donna wrote, _I’ve been guarded by the people of the same Districts that I had once helped oppress. It is rather ironic that a person who once tunneled through mountains under my command now watches over me as I mess around in the yard. And yet, none of them have ever taken out their justifiable anger on me, or any of us for that matter. Their snapping and grumbling never comes close to what I experienced as a young engineer working on the Games, and most are never anything but kind, despite having lost friends and relatives to the fighting, the general bad conditions, or even the Hunger Games. Not one of them bears a grudge and I have never heard words of recrimination. Their human kindness transcends all enmity and prison rules._

_As the fighting drew to a close, we were terrified of the revenge that would undoubtedly soon sweep the nation. I wondered what sort of future could arise out of the ashes of a blood-soaked regime. But if_ they _can treat_ me _with respect and humanity, then the future we live in is one its creators should be proud of themselves for having brought forth._

_I was once dazzled by the possibilities before me, ambitious and eager to make my mark on the world. But when I look back, it is clear to me that I achieved nothing._

* * *

“I’m done,” Donna said to Theodosius as they watered their potatoes. According to the guards, it was supposed to rain in a few days, but they couldn’t wait so long.

“Congratulations!” Theodosius turned towards her, but continued watering, not wanting to draw attention. They were speaking quietly, but not quite whispering, as they were quite far from any other person. Donna had deliberately waited until they were there to break the expected news. “I actually just started.”

“And?” Donna asked, moving a few leaves to the side so that she could water the plant.

“I wish I had access to more paper. Just as I was writing the most important part, I ran out and had to grab some toilet paper. Barely fit it all inside the glasses case.” Theodosius bent down and pulled out a few weeds, tossing them to the side. “It’s so much stress.”

“That it is,” Donna agreed. “But are you enjoying it?”

“Enjoyment’s a bit too strong a word, but yes, I suppose.” He straightened up, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the dust. “It’s definitely satisfying.”

That was probably the most accurate word for it. “What are you writing about right now?” Donna wanted to know.

“Early childhood. I’m going to go in order, it’s easier that way.”

“Have you thought about how you’re going to structure it?” Now that she was done, she was eager to guide someone else through the process. She had never talked about it in much detail with Theodosius, other than saying what she was writing about at the moment or clarifying a particular point where he also had extensive knowledge, though his memory for exact words was much weaker than hers. “I know you won’t be including as many verbatim conversations as me.”

Taking a few steps to the side to reach the plants at the outer edge of the patch, Theodosius shook his head. “Actually, do you mind if I borrow your secretary?” he asked. “For the speeches and conversations that were recorded,” he added by way of explanation.

“Of course!” Now that she was done, Dancer would only have her “daily” notes to type up (while she wrote diary entries every day, they would arrive to his house once a week or so), and thus was free to do something else. “When we get out, we’ll have to give him some sort of reward, you know,” Donna mused. “At the very least, reading my handwriting merits a lifetime supply of something tasty.” While the censors had gotten her to shape up for her official letters, it was impossible for her to write small and neat, and the clandestine notes forced her to take small handwriting to a new level. In her days as a TA, she had often chided students who used a miniature script, sarcastically asking them if they had run out of paper. Well, now she actually didn’t have any more paper. Her former students would probably laugh their heads off.

“A lifetime supply of glasses, you mean,” Theodosius needled her.

“Glasses are already free, that’s cheating.”

“Maybe something to drown his sorrows? A nice quarter-litre of strengthened plum brandy should do the trick.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “My handwriting isn’t that bad.” A quarter-litre of a drink that was over seventy percent alcohol would be enough to land the slender Dancer in a hospital. “Are you trying to cheer Dancer up or finish him off?”

“Well, you’re the expert on how not to drink,” Theodosius said with a mock-serious tone. “I defer to your judgement.” Donna wished she had a snappy comeback for that, but Theodosius, despite not being broad by any definition of the word, still had a decent bulk on him just because of his height. When the orderly had managed to smuggle in a flask of whiskey for his birthday, he had drunk the entire thing in one go and then done his laundry immediately after without raising suspicions. 

“What a thing to be an expert in,” she said instead.

“Very much so,” Theodosius said, shooting her a rather childish smirk.

Shaking the last drops of water onto the dusty soil, Donna realized that she was as parched as the ground. “Are you done?” she asked.

“Yes. Are you?” 

Donna nodded. “Let’s go back, then.” 

At the taps, they put hoses into the watering cans and crouched down to drink some water. It was already quite hot, so they splashed some water on themselves. They didn’t hang around, though. There would be plenty of time for that once it was too hot for work. Today was supposed to peak at around forty-five degrees. A terrifying number.

“Got to get the work done before we all wilt, huh?” Nitza asked. The slender woman was carrying two watering cans, one in each hand. They weren’t quite full, but weren’t too far off it.

“That we do. Are you still watering the patch on the other side?” Donna asked. 

“I’m done with that,” Nitza replied. “We’ll be working together for now.” Donna held back a groan. This year, some of Nitza’s tomatoes were next to their potatoes. While the company of a fellow engineer was usually quite nice, today was not the time.

“That’s nice,” Donna said. “We can discuss the situation with the industrialists.”

Nitza groaned. “Don’t get me started!” she said. “By the way, Mr. Coll, could you please lend me some of your sunscreen?” Nitza was very dark, but still preferred to be careful. Like them, she had an undershirt tucked into the back of her cap to protect her neck.

Clenching his teeth, Theodosius took out the sunscreen with his free hand, which was on the opposite side of the pocket in which the tube was in and slipped it into Nitza’s pocket. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” she said. “What do you two think of the letter-writing campaign?” Her opinion of the expected answer was evident in her tone.

Theodosius was staring at a walnut tree. “Do you think the administration would let us receive shirts?” he asked. “It would save them the costs of having to buy me so much sunscreen if I could just wear something that was appropriate for the weather.”

“I am of the opinion that neither the campaign by leading businesspeople nor your request of shirts would succeed,” Donna said, switching her gaze from Nitza to Theodosius, “as both authorities are not the sort to be swayed by anything.”

Nitza laughed. “But do you think it should succeed?” she asked.

“What should succeed,” Theodosius asked, “the businesspeople or me?”

“The former,” Nitza said, back to being serious.

Donna shifted the can to her free hand. “It would destroy the impact of the sentences,” she said. “Just imagine how it would look. The government doing something just because a bunch of rich people asked.” Seeing Nitza about to argue she rushed to assuage her. “I am not saying that is how it is, but that is how it is perceived in the outer Districts, and even among many in the richer ones. To free the industrialists would imply a continuation straight from Chaterhan and Flick to the people writing those letters.”

“On top of that,” Theodosius added, “it would establish a precedent. Everyone would be up for early release then, annihilating the authority of the government that put us in here in the first place. And think of the outrage that would ensue if all of the former Peacekeepers were released early!”

Nitza looked unsure what to tackle first. “It’s bad enough that our parole board consists of the directors, that we won’t get our sentences decreased for good behaviour, and that the IDC was apparently unaware that the concept of ‘time served’ exists, now you want to subject every so-called Games criminal to the same!” She sounded furious, but then again, if the attempts to release her failed, she would be in here for another nine years. “It’s like you two _want_ to remain here,” she said, shaking her head. “All the really guilty people are long-dead. Why are we the ones still being punished?”

“I do not want to be here,” Theodosius said angrily. “I cannot find the words to describe just how much I do not want to be in here!” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But I can’t do anything about it. My sentence was-”

“Your sentence was just, yes,” Nitza said. “Sometimes I think that when you two say that, it’s an attempt at self-delusion. After all, you’re the key criminals. If we were to be released early, you’d be last on the list. If all of these attempts fail, you’ll spend four years in here with just the lifers for company.” She studied them with her dark, round eyes. “It makes sense you’d want to trick yourself into being fine with everything going on. But then I see how passionately you defend the very people who stripped your houses bare and tossed you in here to rot. I don’t understand. What motivates you?”

Donna was in no mood for soul-searching. “What motivates me?” she asked irritably. “The movies they showed us at our trial. And the witnesses that spoke.”

“We also had movies and witnesses,” Nitza retorted. “I just don’t see why you insist on taking responsibility for crimes that were not yours.”

“Not mine?” Theodosius asked. ”Tell me, then, who is responsible for the actions of a government if not its ministers? Snow didn’t do all that on his own.”

As they reached their respective vegetables and began to water them, the debate raged on, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. Donna wondered what the point of all the arguing was, if they never managed to convince each other of anything and only became more and more convinced of their own rightness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The book Theodosius is reading is Anatoliy Pristavkin’s ‘Nochevala tuchka zolotaya’ [A little golden raincloud slept]. As far as I know, it hasn’t been translated, but if you can read Russian, I highly recommend it. Warning - it is very, very sad.
> 
> I have done garden work in forty-degree temperatures. It is not fun to say the least, but it was better than sitting around at the cottage doing nothing. You feel like a grape becoming a raisin, and the thirst never goes away. Also, if you’re light-skinned, you will tan noticeably over the course of a single day when you start out. You can feel your risk of skin cancer going up every hour.


	50. Choosy

“All of a sudden, we’re forgotten,” Grass grumbled as she bit into a brownie. She sat on the chair in Donna’s cell, pointing out passages from the newspapers to her. “If I’m not mistaken, the candidates are more concerned with trade agreements than with us.” 

“But what of all the letter-writing campaigns?” Donna asked. “Everyone has to be aware of it, after all.” She paused, thinking it over. “Or maybe they don’t want to speak about it too loudly,” she conceded. “My kids say they don’t learn anything about the Games in school. Or about the past at all, really.”

Rain hammered on the window as Grass finished eating her brownie and blew on her hands. “I think I might have rheumatism,” she complained, rubbing at her fingers. “All this crocheting, and the rain on top of it.” Out in the corridor, Zelenka walked by with an armful of freshly laundered bedding. Donna caught her eye and made a small gesture with her chin. The older woman nodded slightly and continued walking. Grass turned around but saw nothing. “What is it?” she asked.

“Zelenka,” Donna said. “I still have three brownies left.”

Grass nodded, carefully picking crumbs off her face and eating them. “They’re very good. Who made them?”

“The dream team.” 

“Of course.” Grass’ voice was quiet, but Donna could tell that she was amused. “If not for the combined efforts of your husband and daughter, we’d never get anything homemade!” Plenty of other snacks were smuggled in on the regular - some old buddy of Blackstone had sent in traditional Two pastries the other week - but everyone held Dem’s treats in the highest esteem.

Zelenka walked into the cell. “It’s clear,” she whispered. Donna took out a paper-wrapped square out of her pocket and handed it to the older woman. Zelenka was in her mid-seventies, but still cut an imposing figure. In a louder voice, she complained, “As soon as it’s raining, it’s my turn to wash my sheets. How is anything supposed to dry with this damp?”

“I hope the weather clears up soon,” Donna said. The fall was proving to be cold and overcast, with heavy rains from time to time.

“What I don’t see,” Zelenka said, “is why we can’t just use the washing machines the guards use. Surely that would decrease their water bill!”

Grass wagged her finger. “Remember, who pays for all of this?”

Donna doubted that this was all part of a grand conspiracy to annoy the municipal government, but given the eccentricities of the administration, even that could not be ruled out. 

Zelenka walked around to see the newspapers better. “Elections?” she asked. “I honestly don’t care anymore. They’re all equally bad.”

“Don’t say that tomorrow,” Donna warned. Some important person was coming down all the way from Seven, and would visit the Supermax on the way. The last thing they needed was for the visitor to think that they were all stubborn revanchists.

Rubbing at her chin, Grass waved her protestations aside. “We’re not stupid,” she said, perusing an article about the trial of a serial rapist. According to a few of the guards, the general mood in the Capitol was that this wouldn’t have happened under Snow. “Nobody’s going to provoke a scene.”

* * *

While nobody went out of their way to provoke a scene, the next morning brought confusing news from abroad as well as the slightly more comprehensible news that Holder had demonstratively thrown out his breakfast. The chicken with vegetables had been first-rate in Donna’s opinion, but since Holder’s tastebuds were ideologically opposed to cooked vegetables, he had been unable to enjoy it.

“I told them a thousand times, there’s no new technique the therapist can teach me that I haven’t tried!” he complained as they slowly jogged in the slight rain. “And I ate the chicken,” he added petulantly. “It was good.”

“It lacked gravy,” Wolf said. He was jogging on Donna’s other side. “Although their idea of gravy is probably just extra-thick nutrient sludge,” he conceded with a shudder. “And in any case, you probably wouldn’t have been able to eat it.” Wolf looked at Holder with a concerned expression.

Holder shrugged. “It depends. There was this one shop where I served in Ten, they had potatoes with cheese curds and really nice gravy. The stuff in our rations, though, that was garbage.”

“Actually,” Wolf said, “I once traded my rations for black-market soup.” The idea of soup being sold on the black market had long ago ceased to amaze Donna. It seemed like there were no depths that hadn’t been sunk to in Twelve.

“Why?” Holder asked.

Wolf obligingly launched into a lengthy story about himself, three prostitutes, Thread, and the old woman who had run the soup shop. The fact that he wasn’t ranting about the news was slight consolation. By the time he was done, they had finished the lap, and Donna slowed to a walk, the other two quickly outpacing her. She wasn’t feeling very tired, though. Maybe it was time to cut out one more walking lap. Donna wondered how she would run during the winter, when the path became iced over in places. She’d have to ask the others how they did it.

They were called back before Donna could finish her laps. Reluctantly, she trudged back to her cell to put on dry clothes and went to the gym, where a certain item of foreign news had eclipsed speculation about the visitor and the elections.

“You must be thrilled,” Katz said in a dry voice.

Not bothering to look up from her sweater, Donna replied with her eyes on her project. “What’s wrong with being glad that these principles are becoming an accepted part of international law?” she asked. Deep down, she felt extremely satisfied that at least everything hadn’t been for nothing. Now, she could tell herself that at least there was a point to her imprisonment.

That morning, _The World_ ’s front page had been adorned with a giant article about how an international tribunal was being put together to try some Spanish warlord who had gotten involved with Portugal’s civil war, as well as unrest in several other countries. Donna had to hide a smile as she remembered a specific line. _”Building on the precedent established in Panem seven years ago, as well as older precedents, the Five Nations have decided to convene an international tribunal...”_

“You aren’t worried that this will cement everyone’s desire to keep us in here forever?” Li asked. “I do not wish to remain here until I’m old enough to be considered a humanitarian case.”

Theodosius shrugged. “At the end of the day, we don’t have the right to complain because justice is being done.”

“Justice?” Strata spat. “There’s no justice involved in something like this. It’s revenge, pure and simple. A thin layer of judicial niceties won’t make that go away.”

“But surely you agree something has to be done with this warlord,” Donna insisted.

“Yes,” Strata said, “just like with Snow. But it’s the innocent who get sucked in as well!” Theodosius raised his eyebrows at her. “Look, Mr. Coll, you know as well as I do that I am here because I was unable to play the hero,” she said in a downcast voice. That was downright false, but Donna wasn’t going to start a fight. “Do you really want more people to be scapegoated like we are?”

“Let’s just see how it goes,” Theodosius said. “Remember how they said at our trial that most trials like this have failed?”

“Really?” Katz asked. “I didn’t know that.” She sounded slightly happier now.

Reluctantly, Donna gave a quick description, even though she herself knew practically nothing. “It’s true,” she said. “They mostly relied on the two successful trials they could dig up, but they also constantly quoted proceedings that ended up falling apart or being discredited almost immediately.”

“I’d have thought that this nonsense would have been quickly discredited,” Katz said, gesturing at the gym. “What would it even take?”

“No idea,” Donna said truthfully.

* * *

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Donna put aside her newspapers and stood in front of the door, cap in hand. The administration had decided that it would be safer to only have one inmate be outside their cell at a time. Donna listened to the sound of doors being unlocked and locked, her heart hammering away madly. She began to take deep breaths, trying to relax herself.

It felt like an eternity passed before the key turned in her door. Donna straightened out, hoping to make a good impression. The door swung open, revealing a woman of about fifty or fifty-five, with pale skin and round eyes. She was flanked by two wardens, one from Seven, the other from One. According to one of the guards, this was the deputy governor of Seven, Beech.

“Good day,” Beech said. She sounded wary.

Donna relaxed slightly. “Good day. Come on in, would you like to sit down?” She gestured at her chair.

“No, thank you,” Beech said, glancing at the wardens for a second. “How are you?”

“Satisfactory,” Donna said honestly.

“Do you have any complaints?”

“No.”

Beech glanced around the cell, paying special attention to the photographs tacked up on the walls. “Is that your daughter?” she asked, pointing at Donna’s graduation photo. In it, her daughter was smiling vaguely and clutching her diploma and the copy of the Constitution all highschool graduates received.

“Yes.”

“She looks like you.” Beech said. She then walked to the next photo, of her parents. Then came the family portrait and the old photo of her and Dem. The deputy governor of Seven froze when she got to the picture over her table. “What’s this?” she asked in a baffled tone.

“Just something my daughter’s classmate drew,” Donna said by way of explanation.

Beech perused the picture. “Interesting,” she said in a bland tone. Straightening up, she offered her hand to shake. “It was very nice meeting you.”

Donna kept her hands at her sides. “It was very nice meeting you, too, but I’m afraid I’m not allowed to shake hands with anyone.” The director from Thirteen would have a meltdown if she shook a visitor’s hand.

“Very well, then.” Beech inclined her head slightly and left the cell. The door was locked after her, and Donna sat back down on her cot, running through the conversation in her head. 

Had not shaking Beech’s hand really been the right thing to do? What if it gave her the wrong impression of the conditions here? And would she think Donna was crazy because of the picture? Maybe she shouldn’t have been so flippant in the beginning. She needed to be taken seriously, and acting like everything was just fine when it obviously wasn’t would just make Beech brush her aside. As Donna reached for a book and began to read it, she was sure that she had blown her chance. 

Eventually, the footsteps sounded again before fading away completely. Almost immediately after, their doors were unlocked. The visit had been timed perfectly to be just before dinner. Donna grabbed the books she was done with and joined the queue. “She stared at me like she couldn’t believe I was real,” Hope complained quietly. 

“Did she offer to shake your hand?” Donna asked.

Hope looked at her strangely. “No.”

“She did for me,” Donna said.

“Why?” Grass asked.

“No idea. In any case, I didn’t take her hand. The wardens might have flipped out.”

“So that’s why she refused to shake hands with me,” Blatt said angrily. “You told her.”

“I’m sure the wardens would have reminded her-”

Trotman’s voice put an end to the argument before it could get going. “Ooh, pickles!”

Immediately, everyone tried to look at the food cart. Donna couldn’t see anything, though. It was only after the first few got their dinner that she could see what was on the trays. There was indeed a handful of pickle slices, as well as chicken, potatoes, peas, an apple, and tea, which was steaming. Before picking up her tray, Donna handed back the library books. A guard handed her two of the ones she had asked for, but something was missing.

“What about-”

“The journal you ordered?” the guard asked, making notations in a ledger. “Here you go.” She handed her a thick book. Confused, Donna read the title. It was technically the journal, but in a bound format. “The public library has stopped stocking individual copies,” she said by way of explanation. “We thought of using the subscription of one of the wardens, but it didn’t work out.”

“But I already read all of these issues!” Donna said, handing back the book. She didn’t see the point in re-reading it all over again.

The guard shook her head. “No, no, take it. You can just hand it back in tomorrow.” She looked at the books Donna was holding. “You like the old classics?”

“Yes.”

“Well, enjoy your reading.” The guard waved her on.

“Thank you.” Holding the books under one arm, Donna picked up her dinner and went back to her cell. She didn’t get to enjoy the books, though. As she was walking back from returning the tray, Blatt joined her, following her inside her cell.

“I’m sure you’re happy,” she said, gesturing with her head towards the newspapers that were lying on the table. “Congratulations.”

Donna sighed. “Nothing has happened yet; it’s too early for happiness. And why congratulate me? I’m not exactly able to influence anything from in here.” She reached for the bound volume, implying that she wanted Blatt to leave so that she could read.

“You already influenced it with your so-called responsibility,” Blatt pointed out. “Half the words out of your mouth legitimize the entire thing.”

“And what’s so bad about legitimizing the rule of law?” Donna asked, even as she recognized the absurdity of the situation. She had read a saying once, that no thief had much love for the rope. It was doubtful that the words of a convict could convince anyone of the legitimacy of the law. “What do you think has to be done about this warlord?”

Blatt sat down on the chair and leaned towards Donna. “Something that would not expose the rank hypocrisy inherent in any undertaking of this sort. Do you truly think the victorious nations conducted themselves in a better way?”

The answer to that was a resounding yes, as far as Donna could tell from the newspapers. Blatt wasn’t talking about just that, though. “Look at the reforms Thirteen held after Coin’s death,” she said. “Do you think that, left alone, the Capitol would have done similar things?” 

“Nobody was tried in Thirteen, though,” Blatt pointed out. “They were forced into retirement or quietly shot.”

“But would the Capitol have done a similar thing if left alone?” Donna pressed the point. “Would Snow have agreed to reforms?”

“We’re not talking about Snow here!” Blatt jabbed at the table with a finger. “He had to go. The way the Rebellion went about it, though, that was hypocrisy and double-standards pure and simple. We were treated one way, and they - in another. Did anyone serve even a day in prison for the bombing of our children on the very last day of the war?”

Donna leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees. “But if not for the Rebellion, would anyone have served even a day in prison for the Hunger Games?” she asked. If only she could think of a direct way to deal with that issue, her arguments would have been much more powerful. Anything she could think of wasn’t something she would ever voice.

“You are dodging the issue,” Blatt said harshly. “The Rebellion hushed up their bombing of our children. Why do you defend them?”

Carefully picking her words, Donna tried to give an explanation. “The people who bombed our children were not the ones who judged us.”

“Not the ones who judged us? They stood for the same things.”

A few more back-and-forths later, Blatt finally got the hint that Donna just wanted to read, and left with a parting “I do wonder if we’ll get another one of you soon.”

Donna wasn’t sure what she’d do if someone tried to imitate her. It would definitely be strange, to have someone draw on her as a precedent. Trying to get rid of the mental image of foreigners discussing her, Donna opened the cover of the volume, and paused. There was a brief letter inside.

_Dear Ms. Peach, thank you for warning us about the reasons for your request. In light of them, the Editors are unanimous in refusing to grant it. Blues is no engineer, she is a murderer, and she has no right to pretend that she is still one. Yours sincerely._ A signature followed.

Seized with a sudden fury, Donna grabbed the page and wrote down exactly what she thought about the editors on the other side of the small slip of paper. Someone must have cut off most of the paper to make it easier to hide the letter.

_How can this motivate them?_ she raged impotently. _Nobody stripped me of my degrees. If they want to call me a murderer, surely they have to agree that my crimes were a direct result of my professional activity? How can they say I’m not an engineer when I so obviously am? Half the media spent the better part of a year calling me the ‘Engineer of Death’, and now I’m suddenly not an engineer! Why are they being so petty? I’m supposed to be allowed to receive reading material of a technical nature, and I’ve never had to deal with such nonsense before!_

Donna hid the slip of paper in her glasses case and decided to read something else first. For her serious reading, she had a monograph on planned obsolescence in construction and a play from before the Cataclysm called _Faust_. She had seen references to it many times in her books. Donna wondered what to read first for a few seconds before her irritation at the letter pushed her away from anything of a technical nature. Instead, she leaned back and began to read the play, surprised at how easy it was to read. 

As Donna read, she began to feel that the story was eerily relatable. She curled up, knees drawn to her chest, and read about a researcher who sold his soul to satisfy his ambitions. In her mind, Mephistophiles looked rather like Snow.

* * *

“You need to read it,” Donna said to Theodosius. “I’d say that I wish I had read it decades earlier, but I wouldn’t have understood it back then.”

“It’s really that good?” Theodosius asked sceptically. 

“It is.” The previous evening, she had read the first act, cringing at every time Faust failed to disentangle himself from the situation. It was obvious that it would not end well. “It’s about a man who makes a pact with the Devil in the pursuit of infinite knowledge.” 

“That doesn’t sound very fun,” Theodosius said in a wary tone.

Donna chuckled humourlessly. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be fun. Not for us.”

Theodosius ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re putting it in these terms, then I have to check it out. Maybe I’ll recommend it to the kids. Do you think they’re old enough to understand it?”

“I’ll recommend it to Aulus, but I doubt he’ll be able to grasp the full meaning.” Aulus had recently started grade eight. “I’m not sure if it’s the translation, but it’s a very easy read in the technical sense.”

“That’s nice,” Theodosius said. “It’s annoying when I can’t even relax while reading a book, because the moment I do, I lose track of what’s going on.”

“It isn’t footnoted, though, but it shouldn’t impede you.”

“That’s a shame.” Theodosius stretched out a hand, checking to see if it was raining. “Huh, I thought I felt something. Anyway, maybe we can do some reading on the context.”

“That would be nice.”

Since the others were talking almost solely about the upcoming war crimes trial in Europe, Donna was glad to avoid them. At the shed, she asked a guard for a knife.They were going to be harvesting cauliflower, and most of the stems would be cut off.

“Here you go, Male Fifteen.” The guard handed Theodosius a tiny pocket knife as Donna took four buckets out of the shed. The blade would doubtlessly be dull.

“Thank you.”

The cauliflower wasn’t in the best possible shape, due to the extreme heat of the summer. Even providing it with shade hadn’t done much to decrease the temperature, and the cauliflower heads looked more like a bunch of small heads, rather than one big one. The large outer leaves were tied together with string, to protect it from the sun that had recently stopped appearing at all.

“They’re not too bad,” Theodosius summed up the situation.

Donna crouched down in the mud, taking the string off one of the cauliflowers. The mostly whole head could have easily fit in her palm. She stretched out a hand, and Theodosius handed her the open knife. As predicted, it turned out to be very dull. Theodosius crouched down next to her, knee sinking into the soft ground. “There’s only one knife,” she said.

Theodosius took the cauliflower and stem and placed them into separate buckets. As Donna moved on to the next one, he shifted to a cross-legged position. “We can go row by row,” he suggested.

“Sounds good to me.” Donna’s hands were rapidly becoming numb. The wet and gritty mud stuck to them, making them even colder. The cauliflowers were all becoming smeared with dirt. At least she wasn’t the one who would have to clean them. “You think we’ll be eating it tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” Theodosius said, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. Donna slowly sawed away at a stem until it was possible to break it in half. The cauliflower was smaller than her fist, but at least it was compact. “There’s plenty to eat, in any case.”

“Unless they hog it all,” Donna pointed out. 

Theodosius looked around the patch. “That’s true.”

Hearing voices behind them, Donna turned around and bit back a sigh as she saw Grass, Jade, and Fest approaching them. Grass appeared to be explaining to the other two why the European tribunal had no right to try anyone. Not wanting to start an argument, Donna continued sawing at a particularly tough stem, hands buried in the dirt.

“Didn’t our lawyers try that already?” Theodosius whispered as the three walked out of earshot. “At the end of the day, the Districts were separate entities back then.” They had been like twelve different occupied countries being ruled from the same place, as far as Donna could tell from her reading. “The precedent should be applicable.”

Donna moved over slightly, followed by Theodosius, who shifted the buckets over. “It was still technically one country, though. Maybe they’ll claim that.” Her hand hurt from clutching the tiny knife. “Still, though, it’s not like there’s a shortage of precedent that international tribunals are valid.” A large worm crawled out of the ground. “Hey, look!”

“Wow. It’s huge.” Theodosius bent over the worm, hands pressed against the ground for support. “I wonder what it’s been eating.”

“The lettuce?”

“No, a guard told me that was snails.”

Drops of water began to fall. Donna stared at the worm, envious of its ability to hide from the rain. It was already quite cool, and rain would only make it worse. Theodosius stared at the sky as they waited for it to become stronger, which would be the signal for them to be allowed inside. They waited and waited, Donna holding the knife in a numb hand. As if deliberately mocking them, the rain stubbornly remained a weak drizzle. The worm wisely crawled back underground.

Snapping out of her trance, Donna continued to harvest the cauliflower. A few of the others retreated to hide under the trees. Most continued working or not working. “I hate this weather,” she said. “It’s the worst of both worlds. It’s raining, but not actually raining, so we’re stuck out here.”

“Exactly.”

By the time Donna handed the knife to Theodosius, her hands felt like they were being burned. She wiped them off on her trousers and jammed them into her pockets. Her jacket had streaks of mud on it.

“I think my feet are wet,” Theodosius complained.

“Your _feet_?” Both of them were wearing thick boots. “Are your boots leaking?”

Theodosius scraped off some mud from one boot. “Maybe they’re just cold. I didn’t put on warm socks today, and I don’t want to go in and track mud in twice.”

The drizzle soon stopped, but the air remained extremely humid. “I think it’ll rain again today,” Donna said, throwing out a stem.

“Probably,” Theodosius agreed.

As they were raking the empty vegetable bed and picking out the occasional weed, the rain indeed resumed, much heavier than before. “That’s that,” Donna said as they practically rain to put away their things and walk inside.

“At least we finished with the cauliflower.” Theodosius handed back the knife to a guard. “See you in the gym!”

It was a relief to walk into the relatively warm corridor, though Donna’s hands began to burn even worse, and felt like they were being pricked with needles. She took off her boots at the door, hung up her jacket, and hurried to wash her hands. Even the chilly tap water felt warm in comparison. Donna scrubbed at her hands with a virtually nonexistent sliver of soap. She’d need to ask for more. 

Quickly, she changed into clean clothes, put on her thin shoes, and went to the gym, where the main topic of discussion was, thankfully, the weather.

“Can’t even get any fresh air with this rain,” Li complained. There was a streak of mud on his cap.

“I’d rather be inside than outside right now,” Theodosius said. “My hands are still thawing out.” He was crocheting with no problems, though, forming the collar of a sweater. Donna was working on the back of hers.

Her hands still felt a little bit numb, but it was warm in the gym (if not as warm as she’d have wanted), and the cold was slowly leeching out of her bones. “How are the beets?” she asked Katz and Strata.

“Excellent,” Katz said, “though we didn’t finish with them in time.”

“Mostly excellent,” Strata amended. “One had an actual tunnel through it.” The work of mole crickets, no doubt. “The cauliflower didn’t look too bad, either.”

Theodosius made a vague gesture. “They’re as good as they’ll get with our weather.”

“Hopefully we’ll get to taste them soon,” Li said with a small smile, not looking up from the seamless sweater he was making. “Unless the directors eat all of them tomorrow.”

“I forgot about that.” Donna flipped over the panel in her lap, starting a new row. “Do you know who’s chairing?”

Li shook his head. 

“Does it really matter?” Stein asked. “They’ve all got veto power.”

“I’m just wondering what sort of food will be served,” Donna explained. Each director strove to outdo the others when it came to catering. Every week, they treated each other to a top-notch meal of traditional food from the chairing director’s District.

Li stared into space, continuing to crochet without looking at his project. “Probably something fancy,” he said. 

“Not as fancy as the one time I was at a Victory Tour banquet,” Stein said. “Now that was fancy.”

Chuckling, Li turned around to face the older man. “I was once at a Victory Tour banquet in the Capitol.”

“Wait, you were?” Donna asked. She did not recall ever seeing him, but then again, he wouldn’t have wanted to stick out. “You never said.”

Li furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t?” Everyone shook their heads. “Well, I was.”

“Why?” Theodosius asked. That was a good question. Donna remembered that Stonesmith had been invited, but even Krechet never was.

“I was supposed to be stalking someone, but got distracted by someone drinking alcohol that was on fire, and ended up pretending I was some minister’s assistant so that I could get some cake.” Li smiled self-deprecatingly. “The cake was the best I’ve ever had in my life, but Stonesmith chewed me out for not doing my job.”

“I can imagine,” Donna said, slightly unnerved by the matter-of-fact mention of stalking someone. “Official parties always had the best food. When the families were invited, the kids would stuff their pockets full of sweets.”

“That’s adorable,” Stein said.

“Not when it happened right in front of Snow. My husband really scolded them that one time when we got home. Not that it stopped them from doing it again the next time.”

Theodosius chuckled. “At least they had the candy to cheer themselves up. How old were they?”

“My eldest was something like eight or nine,” Donna said, struggling to remember. “No, a little bit younger. I distinctly remember being pregnant with my fourth at the time.”

“Ouch,” Theodosius said.

“Actually,” Donna replied, “I just hid in the bedroom, put on noise-blocking headphones, and worked for a few hours while on the verge of a breakdown the entire time.”

“Your kids will have so many stories to tell,” Li said.

“They already do.” Theodosius ran a hand through his hair. 

The little group was silent for a while. Donna could clearly hear Koy explain to Blatt the principle of universal jurisdiction. Neither of them seemed very pleased with the idea.

“I had a thought recently,” Li said. “About precedents.”

They turned towards him. “What is it?” Theodosius asked warily.

Li crocheted a few stitches, gathering his thoughts. “A precedent is like a flower. If it’s not pollinated, not followed up on, it withers without bearing fruit.”

“Withers? I wish.” Katz moved her ball of yarn from the floor to her lap. “An entire Cataclysm, several hundred years without any of that nonsense, and someone got into their heads the idea to pick it back up again.”

“Maybe it’s like one of those cacti that need to be watered once a year,” Donna said, struck by the poeticness of the phrase. She’d need to write it down in the evening. 

“Maybe.” Li stared at his hands. “Maybe Thirteen were the only ones crazy enough to try to use such a discredited idea, and now that it worked, from their perspective, other countries are willing to give it a shot.”

“Good for them,” Strata said disdainfully. “I hope they don’t follow up on the precedent of scapegoating whoever they can grab.” She crocheted with vehemence, and Donna wondered what it was like to be so certain.


	51. Memorandum

It was freezing outside, but in the corridor, it was nice and warm. Donna leaned her mop against the wall and took off her sweater, tying it around her waist.

“It’s freezing in here,” Xu said in an incredulous tone.

“No, it’s not.” Kremser scrubbed at a patch of dried mud with her mop. 

Down the corridor, Cast mopped the floor. Her sight had worsened to the point where she needed to have someone else read to her, Donna doing so from lunch to dinner every other day. Fortunately, the operation was only a few days away now. The directors had finally agreed to have the surgeon come into the prison with all of their equipment.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.” Even wearing a jacket, Xu was narrower than Kremser without one.

While the air was warm, the water in the bucket was cold. Donna cringed as she accidentally splashed some on her hands. She wiped off her hands on her shirt and continued to mop in silence, wondering what her family was doing. It was New Year’s Eve today, and Donna’s mind conjured images of her family posing for their annual photograph, of Dem and Cynthia in the kitchen cooking up a feast (with Donna’s help) as the younger kids and her brother tried to not get in their way, of her parents sitting on the sofa with the cat stretching from one lap to another, and of the presents that were undoubtedly lying buried in everyone’s closets, waiting for tomorrow morning. Dem had managed to get the day off this year. All Donna would get were several hours in the gym with everyone else, an orange, and a package from Dem containing a shirt, socks, thermal underwear, and soap.

As if reading her mind, Xu started to complain. “Why are we working on New Year’s Eve?” she asked, looking at nobody in particular but addressing the wardens. “You’re not allowed to make us work on holidays.”

One of the wardens, a young woman from Ten, glanced at the other, a slightly older woman from Eleven, who raised her eyebrows. “And who told you about that letter?” she asked, referring to the public letter posted on the Web by Blatt’s husband a few days ago, in which he exaggerated greatly the conditions in the Supermax. One of the points was the fact that they didn’t have any days off.

“You.” Donna barely held back her laughter at Xu’s deadpan tone. 

The warden from Ten chuckled. “She got you there.”

The warden from Eleven rolled her eyes. “But did you hear about the reply?”

“No.” The four women moved closer toward the wardens, eager for behind-the-scenes information.

“Here you go,” the warden from Eleven said, taking several folded sheets of paper from her pocket and handing the document to Donna, who stood the closest. “Why don’t you read it out loud, so that the mopping can get done? I can’t read right now, I have a sore throat.”

“By the way,” the warden from Ten said, “this was posted everywhere. Everyone who cares to has read it.” That was probably a tiny handful of people.

“Alright,” Donna said. After reading out loud to Cast for several weeks now, she was quite good at it. “‘Introduction. In light of recent complaints, I was requested to perform an inspection of the Inter-District Supermaximum Security Prison.’ Who was this written by?”

The warden from Eleven looked up from her book of chess problems. “Do you remember the visitor from two weeks ago who got you to list every single complaint you have?” Everyone nodded. “He’s one of the highest-ranking officials in the Department of Corrections.” Donna regretted telling him that she had no complaints. Maybe something would have been done about them if she had.

Kicking herself mentally for misinterpreting his intent, Donna continued to read. “‘The first thing that must be kept in mind is that when it comes to the lives of the prisoners, the category “Supermax” is unmerited, as there is no continuity between the conditions under the Games regime and now. Neither do they resemble the conditions in Townhome Complex, where most of the other Games criminals, both convicted by IDC courts and not, reside. While there are precedents that can be quoted, researching them just made me more convinced that a proper inspection was necessary.’”

“Precedents?” Xu asked, dunking her mop into the bucket. “If they’re not drawing on the previous history of the prison, then what?”

“Believe me, none of us have any idea, either,” the warden from Ten said. 

“‘One of the main questions surrounding the sentences passed by the Inter-District Military Tribunal is what was intended by them. Nothing was specified beyond the word “imprisonment”. While the regulations of the Supermax call for hard labour - whether it is enforced in reality will be dealt with later - the inmates of Townhome live by the usual prison regulations, where work is voluntary and paid. It is true that no explanation was given for this discrepancy-’”

“If they themselves admit it,” Kremser complained, “why isn’t anything being done about it?”

“It’s addressed in literally the next sentence!” Donna swallowed a few times, mouth dry, and continued reading. “‘It is true that no explanation was given for this discrepancy by any official representative of the Supermax, but the answer is very simple. It is an inter-District prison, a unique institution that is outside the federal penitentiary system. The official rules and regulations do not apply.’” Donna was very glad that she hadn’t found out about this before arriving, as she would have panicked. From the faces of the other three, they were thinking the same thing. “‘Technically speaking, the Department of Corrections has no authority over it, but my input was deliberately sought out by the Directors.’ The next part is called ‘Internal Regulations’. ‘It has to be said that to enforce a specially written code of regulations on a prison population of sixty-five in these conditions, which are described below, will be dubious at best. The security measures, both external and internal, can only be described as erratically paranoid. Every single possible precaution is taken against suicide, though no attention is given to the fact that the prison seems designed to drive those of the inmates sentenced to life imprisonment to a suicidal despair. The prison population can only shrink, and it will do so nearly every year until 2382 even assuming that everyone lives beyond life expectancy. After that, the Supermax will become a place where a handful of elderly people wait for death, one by one. In 2382, most of the inmates will be in their mid-eighties, one will be sixty-nine, and one will be fifty-four.’”

Xu was furious at that. “Well, a lot of things can happen by then,” she said, mopping the floor with more strength than necessary. The other two, who both had finite sentences, looked slightly calmer, but the seventy-two-year-old Xu was nearly trembling. “Why’s he going on and on about something that probably won’t even happen?”

“I forgot Hryb’s that young,” Kremser mused. “Who’s the other one?”

“Male Twenty-Seven,” the warden from Eleven said. 

Kremser stopped mopping. “This person’s implying that for ten or so years Li and Hryb will be in here by themselves, and after Li dies, Hryb will remain in here _all alone_?” She trailed off weakly, glancing at Xu.

“Like I said,” Xu insisted, “things will change by then. Just listen to how absurd that sounds! Who’s ever heard of a prison kept open for one prisoner? There will be riots!”

A strange expression flickered over the faces of the wardens. Donna fervently hoped that they weren’t thinking of a precedent to such a possibility.

“It’s interesting that this- what’s his name?” Cast asked.

“Paume,” the warden from Eleven replied.

“Paume seems to be on our side,” Cast continued. “That’s interesting, given his position.”

Kremser shook her head. “Grass told me that the people in the justice system are on our side.”

Donna seriously doubted that, given the lack of action or even words from them. “Should I continue?” Impatient nods from all around, even the wardens. “‘The inmates talk with a psychologist for at least an hour weekly, and are allowed to request a session at any time, which is far beyond the access to mental health services their Townhome counterparts have. It must be admitted, though, that for the reason stated above, even that may not be enough in a decade or two.’”

“‘As I have stated, the internal regulations can generally be described as erratically paranoid, though in practice, they are often not followed. Anti-suicide measures are extensive. Originally, the lights in the cells never went off so that the inmates could constantly be monitored. In recent years that regulation has been amended, though the external lighting is so extreme, the guards can check on the inmate at night even without the lightbulb being turned on. Several inmates complained to me about difficulties falling asleep. The cells are supposed to be searched daily and nightly, as are the inmates, though several of the wardens and internal guards report that they only carry out perfunctory searches in the cells when the inmates are at work, as nothing forbidden has ever been found.’” Everyone glanced at Donna, who did not dignify that with a response. 

“‘Inmates can only use eyeglasses under supervision. They are not allowed forks or knives, only spoons. They are issued special flexible pens that cannot be used for suicide. It is interesting to compare this to the way that the inmates all queue to receive meals and are allowed to sit close to each other at indoor work. I was struck by how little fear of an escape attempt from the inside the Directors have when their fear of an organized breakout attempt from the outside is so great, as will be described below. It appears that there is no concern whatsoever that an inmate could potentially attack a guard or another inmate.’”

“‘One of the most troubling of the regulations is the ban on talking, but several of the Directors reassured me that it is never upheld. The list of punishments for transgressions is likewise far beyond anything permitted in the federal system, and even though it is doubtful the most inhumane provisions have ever been carried out, the fact that they remain on the books is an outrage.’ I don’t think he saw the book of punishments,” Donna said sceptically. Netter was currently in total solitary for having written too much about the past in his last letter.

“What did you expect?” Xu asked. “The Directors aren’t going to be honest if it hurts them.”

Feeling disappointed, Donna continued reading. They had by now shifted greatly down the corridor. “‘The solitude in solitary cells when not at work or the twice-daily half-hour period of exercise is also highly dubious, and is the most likely reason for the fact that the inmates work with no days off. Since the inmates aren’t forced to actually work, sitting on a bench in the gym or under a tree outside is preferable to being locked up in their cells. Recently, a change was made, allowing the inmates to visit each other’s cells for an hour after dinner. Likewise, they were permitted to receive newspapers around that time, though they are heavily censored.’”

“‘The censorship of every bit of information that enters the prison is a frequent topic of complaint. Inmates are unhappy that they are not allowed to discuss their health, an extremely odd rule that makes no sense in light of the excellent healthcare they receive. Often, books that they requested from the library are refused due to their touching on a forbidden topic such as recent history, usually with no explanation. Unlike their counterparts in Townhome, the inmates are not allowed to listen to the radio or watch television.’”

“The next part is the external regulations. ‘None of these measures come close to the external security, which makes the Supermax worthy of its name. The prison is surrounded by multiple rings of defenses, including electrical fences, mines, and ten guard towers. Only one visitor may be present inside the prison, unless accompanying a child under six, but in practice, when there are multiple visitors in one day, the second one is already inside by the time the first one is leaving.’”

“‘Each inmate may send and receive a single page-long letter weekly. The inmates with larger families are thus only able to receive a small paragraph from each child. As stated above, only one person may visit at a time unless accompanying a child under six. Visits are allowed once every two months for half an hour, and no phone calls are allowed. Several inmates have been banned from writing for up to half a year, punishment for attempting to use secret codes in their letters to pass on forbidden information. Nobody has ever been prohibited from having a visitor, though.’”

Then came a lengthy description of the conversation Paume had with the directors about the conditions and how nobody bothered to ever follow the rules, including a lengthy paragraph about how the men and women were constantly in contact, which was beyond anything seen in the system but hadn’t resulted in any problems. Following that was a discussion with the psychologists.

“Next section - mental and physical condition of inmates.” Donna winced as she skimmed the first few lines. “I really don’t want to read this out loud.”

“Why don’t you summarize it?” Cast asked as she squeezed out a rag.

That was a good idea. “He says that the healthcare is excellent, we’re all in good physical health for our age, but our mental health is, and I quote, ‘dubious at best’. He mostly blames our isolation, off-handedly says that it could have been worse, and then lists off everyone’s health.”

“I don’t see how it could be worse,” Xu said.

“There could be five of us in here instead of fifty,” Donna offered, shuddering.

“How _is_ my health?” Cast asked, sounding like a child eager to read their report card.

Donna skimmed down the page, looking for the right row. The inmates were listed in order of number. “Other than your eyesight and mild arthritis that is being successfully managed with medication, fine.” Donna herself was described as a ‘physically fit woman of forty-four who jogs daily and is one of the most dedicated gardeners. She volunteers eagerly for additional tasks to stave off boredom and is remarkably honest about the past.’ Theodosius was also marked down for being ‘remarkably honest’, as was Holder. Xu was considered at risk for depression and Kremser had high blood pressure, as did over twenty other inmates. Li was described as ‘an anomaly both mentally and physically’, because of his off-the-charts strength and his personality, which was ‘seemingly incompatible with his criminal record. He is always described as friendly, helpful, outgoing, and eager to learn more.’ The longest descriptions were given the Verdant (who apparently suffered from severe chronic hip pains on top of everything else), and Holder and Hryb, the legal sanity of whom was openly doubted. “He openly refers to Holder as ‘arriving into the prison with the critical thinking capacity of a twelve-year-old’.”

“What does it say about him now?” Cast eagerly asked. Donna suspected that this document would make the rounds of the prison in a few hours.

“Says that he’s made almost unprecedented progress for someone his age, which can be explained by the fact that he never got help before and is eager to improve.”

“Alright, what next?” Xu asked impatiently, not interested in having Donna read about her out loud.

“Conversations he had with our relatives.”

“ _He interviewed our relatives?_ ” Kremser asked. Donna didn’t understand her confusion, as her husband talked to the media eagerly enough.

“Yes. Should I give a summary?”

“Please,” Xu said.

“The rule of thumb is that the younger our children are, the less our spouses appear in the public eye, with the exception of Hryb’s wife.”

Kremser nodded. “That makes sense. Your husband’s got five kids to raise and works as a line cook. Once they get older, he’ll probably join the club.”

“No, he won’t,” Donna said. She wasn’t going to let Dem waste his time trying to kick up a fuss when there were quieter and more effective methods. Kremser, though, being a former Gamemaker assistant, took it the wrong way, as she always did.

“Oh, of course,” she said disdainfully.

“In any case,” Cast said, “what do my parents say?”

“They’ve got your old room ready for you,” Donna read awkwardly. There was a pause as Cast nodded silently.

“So, what's next?” Cast prompted.

“All of our relatives complain about how rarely they can visit. ‘The younger spouses are concerned about their children growing up without a parent. Nowhere is this as evident as with the families of Blues, Coll, and Hryb’. Well, that’s a grouping I’d never have expected,” Donna joked. “‘Their youngest children have no memories whatsoever of their parents.’” She had known that all along, but to have it written black on white like that was like a punch to the gut. “There’s a rundown of all of us, followed by a brief complaint about revanchism. Then, he describes our daily routine, with commentary. How much should I read?”

“Just the commentary, please,” Xu said.

“The fact that we officially work for eight hours outside would raise eyebrows given the average age and health of the inmates, ‘but it must be stressed that they work as much as they want to.’ The fact that our indoor work consists of crochet is dubious, due to the many complaints about pain in the finger joints. ‘Nevertheless, the Directors are to be commended for providing the inmates with productive work in an environment where they are able to enjoy free and unrestricted communication with their fellow inmates and are not pressured into working beyond their capabilities. I feared that I would see inmates locked in their cells when not outside, and was pleasantly surprised to find that was not the case.’ I don’t understand, why’s he comparing it to the old years?”

“Maybe Blatt’s husband got too creative?” Cast suggested.

Kremser shook her head. “There’s a reason why our relatives aren’t able to change anything. Someone like Paume’s going to believe the directors over them, or us.”

Donna continued reading. “He gives a huge list of recommendations next. ‘One - transport inmates to outside hospitals for surgery instead of using the makeshift operating theatre attached to the infirmary and dispensary, which are all converted cells.’”

“That would be nice,” Cast said.

“‘Two - while inmates are allowed to visit each others’ cells for an hour after dinner, the women are not allowed to visit the men and vice versa despite the total lack of separation by gender at work. The inmates of Townhome have a room where they can sit, talk, watch television, and play board games. I believe that it would be in the interests of the administration to implement something similar. Three - the men only get shaved twice a week and before visits, resulting in an undignified appearance on most days. No reason at all was given, and the men aren’t allowed to use the razors themselves in any case, thus eliminating the risk of suicide. This regulation is completely unnecessary and needs to be changed. Four - likewise, the prohibition on hairstyles is also excessive given that their fellows in Townhome are allowed long hair if they wish. A little bit of individuality would greatly improve self-respect.’”

“I don’t think the Peacekeepers would be interested in that,” Cast joked.

“‘Five - the silence rule needs to be officially removed, as do the provisions for total solitary confinement. Six - the prohibitions on talking and writing about internal prison matters need to be relaxed, as they contribute only to paranoia from society’s more impressionable elements, and either visits should be made more frequent or phone calls permitted. Seven - when inmates are not allowed a certain book or magazine, the exact reason should be given, as there are many complaints about one book being forbidden while another one on the exact same topic is not, with no explanation other than a vague appeal to the regulations. Eight - the inmates should be paid for the work they do. Nine - electronic locks need to be implemented, as the mechanical ones currently in use are a fire safety hazard. I already discussed the issues around time served, access to lawyers, and parole in a previous memorandum, so I will not discuss them here. In conclusion, I ask the Directors to take these suggestions into consideration, so that the inmates may live in accord with the federal regulations for the treatment of long-term prisoners. Signed.’” Donna folded the papers, which by now were soft at the sides from the sweat, and dashed to hand them back, picking up her mop along the way. 

“Well,” Xu said, “that’s a lot to take in at once. Previous memorandum?”

Both of the wardens just shrugged. “Directors’ eyes only, and it still hasn’t leaked.”

“It’s obvious what’s in it, though,” Xu pointed out. “If they treated us like common criminals, half of us wouldn’t even be here by now.” She was referring to the fact that their sentences started from the day they were announced, and not from the day when they had been taken into custody, and also to the fact that their parole board was the directors, each of whom had veto power.

Donna snorted disdainfully. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re rather uncommon criminals.”

“Political criminals, you mean,” Kremser butted in.

“That is absolutely not what I meant and you know it.” Donna began to mop the edge of the corridor. “In any case, it’s interesting to see an outsider’s view. Hopefully that will put an end to the more outrageous rumours.”

Cast nodded. “I like the way that Paume describes the directors as ‘erratically paranoid.’”

“It’s the truth,” Xu said. “Did you notice that he called us unprecedented at only one point? I wonder what the precedent is for everything else.”

Kremser shrugged, running her mop along the edge of the wall. “Probably Thirteen,” she said. “Remember the stories Mrs. Blues told us about Slice?”

“Or maybe he’s drawing on the previous history of the Supermax,” Donna pointed out. “Though the fact that he's slightly disappointed by the fact that we eat as well as the sentries doesn’t fit into that.”

“It doesn’t fit into anything,” Xu said. “He said it’s better than Townhome, so why’s he disappointed? I, for one, am happy with the food as long as we don’t get the same thing five times in a row.” That was high praise for the administration, coming from Xu. “Of course, I’d love to eat the same thing that the officers and high-ranking administrators have, but I’m not holding my breath.” The other three nodded.

“We should ask the others once we’re done,” Cast pointed out. “They’ll be thrilled with the news.”

“We’ll call it a slightly early New Year’s present,” Donna snarked.

* * *

“‘Erratically paranoid?’” Katz asked in an incredulous tone. “I’d drink to that, if I had something to drink.”

Meanwhile, Strata was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Stein was shaking from suppressed laughter, Li was staring at Donna with furrowed eyebrows, and Theodosius ran a hand through his hair, knocking his cap off his head. “That’s certainly one way to put it,” he said, bending down to pick up the cap.

“This is the best description of the directors I’ve ever heard,” Strata said. “This Paume is a genius.”

Around them, Kremser was likewise discussing the memorandum with the others and Cast was in her cell with Jade. Donna slightly envied her and Xu, as they didn’t have anyone to compete with. 

“He still toes the line,” Katz pointed out, “but he’s also willing to tell them what’s what. I suppose they wouldn’t have let him get away with more.”

“I disagree,” Theodosius said, pinching the edge of the sleeve he was working on and holding up his sweater. “Why would they have authority over him? That’s not how things work anymore.”

“That cabling is very well done,” Li complimented him, leaning over Donna to run a hand over a sleeve.

“Well, maybe,” Katz shrugged.

Li looked at her, confused. “What do you mean, maybe? Just because you’re better at crocheting than Mr. Coll doesn’t mean you can put him down like that. There is absolutely nothing wrong with his cabling.” His tone was calm, but with an undercurrent of anger.

“That’s not what I meant,” Katz said. “I was referring to what Mr. Coll just said.”

“The directors asked Paume to write a report,” Theodosius insisted. “If they really had been so outraged by it, they’d have deleted it from everywhere instead of letting wardens print off copies.”

Katz shrugged, spinning her hook between her fingers. “Maybe.” She turned to face Donna. “And what did he say after that?”

“Gave advice.” Donna had saved the bit about the erratic paranoia until almost the end, so as to not distract everyone too early. She quickly paraphrased Paume’s suggestions. “I wonder what he said in the previous memorandum.”

“See?” Theodosius told Katz. “That one’s more potentially explosive, so they suppressed it. It doesn’t mean they have power over him.”

“I wonder what that second memo says.” Li looked up from his sweater, which was a work of art. “On one hand, someone from the Department of Corrections is probably going to be outraged by how we can’t contact our lawyers properly, but on the other hand, he directly says here that the Supermax is not under its jurisdiction.” He untwisted the sweater and continued working on the cuff of the first sleeve. Since he only had one colour to work with, Li instead used different stitches to create elaborate patterns on the front and back. Leaning closer, Donna realized that the back featured a large number ‘27’.

“Nice,” she said, pointing it out.

Li smirked at her. “Thank you.”

Donna wondered if the person who would receive the sweater would catch it, and if yes, if they would understand what it meant. “Can you teach me how to do it?” she asked. 

“Of course. That’s your second panel, right?” Donna nodded. She had just started working on the back. “You should do five more rows first, including the one you’re working on right now. I’ll have the pattern ready tomorrow.” 

“Thank you.” Donna did a few more stitches and stopped, rejoining the conversation. Even though she wouldn’t do any more crocheting until tomorrow, going at a normal speed would make her blow completely past that goal.

“There’s no way we’ll ever get paid,” Theodosius was saying. “Not only do they have to buy the materials, but they don’t even recoup the losses through sales.” Everything they made went to charity. “And, in any case, the reason common criminals work and get paid in prison is so that they can get out and contribute to society instead of going back to their old habits. With the way that everyone is being re-hired after doing their time, that concern falls away.”

“What’s wrong with everyone being re-hired?” Strata asked challengingly.

“Nothing,” Donna cut in. “That is exactly what should be happening.”

“And yet,” Katz said, “so-called Games criminals are never released early even though their alleged crimes are often the exact same as those of non-Games criminals. There’s still a double-standard.”

Donna sighed. “We should just be grateful that they’re not being barred from work because of a criminal record. One year less or more doesn’t matter that much in the grand scheme of things.” According to Livia, the company she was working with was willing to hire Donna once she got released. Cold comfort, given that Dr. Fisher’s letters were every bit as pessimistic as before.

“Isn’t refusing someone work because of a criminal record illegal?” Strata asked. “Unless they were specifically banned from working in that field, that is.”

“Illegal, yes, but if you’re more or less high-profile, the manager or hiring committee will be biased against you from the get-go,” Li explained. “Not to mention that if you’re applying to be a guard, they’ll ask for your background, and then you’ll have to either lie and say you have no experience, damaging you application and potentially getting you fired if someone recognizes you later, or admit that you were a Peacekeeper, which will make them look you up in the database.”

Strata looked strained. “You think they’ll recognize me?” she asked, clutching at her sweater.

“I doubt it,” Katz said, “but it only takes one person to ruin everything. Your name isn’t uncommon and you’re hardly the most famous one of us, but all it takes is one person getting suspicious and doing their research. There’s plenty of people out there whose job is just to ruin the careers and lives of Peacekeeper veterans.”

“At least with me, everyone knows where they stand,” Donna joked. “The only good thing about growing old in here is that nobody will recognize me when I get out.”

Li guffawed. “But what about the journalists asking you about the exact configuration of Snow’s rose garden?”

“I’d tell them to go to the library and look up the newspapers from the trial, where it answers that question and more besides.”

Stein got up from the bench, intending to get another ball of yarn. His sweater was about halfway done. “You think they’ll make a movie about you two?” he asked, leaning in towards her and Theodosius.

“After my death, they can make whatever they want,” Theodosius said fervently, “but while I still breathe, I would like to remind everyone that I was sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment, not a lifetime of torture.”

Donna chuckled. “I’ve heard that the people involved with our trial are all writing memoirs,” she said.

“I have never been this glad to be unknown,” Strata said. 

“Yes,” Katz said, “but you’re part of a very famous group. Just imagine it - someone reads Paume’s memo and pauses at your name. Then, they go do some research on their own, and soon enough, their entire family knows what marks you got in hand-to-hand combat in your first year.”

Strata rubbed at her forehead. “I don’t want people to know about me,” she said.

“Nobody does,” Donna replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The memorandum was loosely inspired by a real-life memorandum someone wrote about an equally odd prison.


	52. To Learn

“What would you like me to read?” Donna asked, looking at the small stack of books on the table.

“Whatever’s on top of the stack,” Cast said, taking off her glasses and putting them on the table. She sat back against the wall.

The book on top of the stack was _The Count of Monte-Cristo_. Hiding a sigh, Donna picked it up and turned to the marked page. “I need Faria in my life,” she remarked, scanning the page with her eyes. She had read the book before, but this would be the first time she read it out loud to Cast.

“I’d settle for the escape tunnel,” Cast said, swinging her feet up on her cot. “Although, I must say, this book makes me appreciate what I have. By the way, when’s he going to escape already?”

“In a while,” Donna replied vaguely. Cast knew a lot already from listening to the discussions, but she liked to be surprised, even though she constantly badgered her for what would happen next. 

Cast linked her hands behind her head. “It feels strange to be reading this.”

“I don’t see how it’s any less strange than _The Communist Manifesto_ ,” Donna said, glancing at the small book that was lying on the table. She herself was currently reading a thick tome on morality and ethics, which would also have looked odd to visitors.

“At least that clears things up,” Cast explained, “given how all those books about the twentieth century refer to it in some way or another.” She looked at Donna. “Does it feel strange to you?”

Donna sighed. “At least I know that my time here is finite and I’ll get out eventually no matter what.” Raising her eyebrows slightly she added, “I do hope you’re not planning a revenge spree this coming May.”

Cast laughed. “Now that’s a thought. I wonder what everyone would think if the judges from my trial mysteriously died.”

Amusement drained out of Donna as she remembered what the Justice Building had looked like during her trial. From the photos, it had looked more like some sort of top-secret installation, not the site of a trial, and all thanks to the fear that revanchists could attack. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she joked. “They’d blame revanchists, and then none of us would get out of here.”

“Very true,” Cast admitted. 

“I’ll start reading now,” Donna said. She turned back to the book and continued the tale of the imprisonment of Edmond Dantes. Inwardly, she shuddered at the thought of only having one person for company. Even if it had been Theodosius, it still would have been impossible.

* * *

“All I want for New Year’s,” Li declared, “is to make something pretty and useless.”

“That’s not what I’d ask for,” Netter said in a low voice.

Donna walked past them, headed in the direction of Theodosius. They were in the gym, with what felt like every single warden and internal guard lining the walls and milling about. A few of the directors were also present. The director from Five was showing the director from One photos of his kids on his phone, even though it was forbidden to bring any electronic devices, other than the communicuffs all the guards wore, into the prison proper.

The inmates all stood in small clusters, whispering to each other. Theodosius was by himself, though given the glare he was sending at Zelenka, that was a recent development. “Hey,” he said, noticing Donna approach. “How was your afternoon?”

“I read _The Count of Monte-Cristo_ for Cast.”

Theodosius nodded. “Now that’s a book to make even Cast realize that life isn’t as bad as it could be.”

“Very true.” Donna looked around the brightly lit gym. It was warm inside, and the lack of windows meant that it was impossible to tell what time it was. 

Next to them, several former Peacekeepers were giving dating advice to a young guard from Four. “I honestly don’t see what you’re waiting for,” Hope said. “Just sleep with him already!”

The guard looked awkward, backed into a corner in more ways than one. “I’m not sure it’s the right time.”

“What do you mean?” Li asked. “You’re both on the shot, right?” The guard nodded. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Don’t pressure her,” Donna said to the former Peacekeepers, cutting into the conversation. Turning to the guard she added, “You’re the only one who knows when you’re ready. Have you discussed it with him?”

The guard nodded. “His family thinks that people should wait until marriage.”

“Does he?”

“Uh, no.” She looked hesitant. “I don’t think so.”

“Does he want to have sex with you?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Do you want to have sex with him?” Theodosius asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you comfortable talking about sex together?” Donna was rapidly running out of ideas. She tried to think back to when she and Dem had first started dating.

The guard shrugged. “We’ve only been dating for six months, and I’ve been here for half the time.”

“That’s a long time,” Metteren said.

“Everyone’s different,” Donna pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow. Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?” The guard nodded. “And what did he say?”

“He agrees that it’s still early,” she replied.

“In that case,” Theodosius said, “what’s the problem? Just continue doing what feels right and always be honest with each other, and you’ll be fine.”

The guard nodded gratefully, and the small cluster moved a few steps to the side. “It’s a bit weird,” Li said, “hearing you two talk about sex like that.”

“What? Why?” 

“Well, you’re parents,” Li said awkwardly.

That was probably one of the most nonsensical things Li had ever said, not counting his statements about the Death Squad. “Exactly,” she said. “I’m a mother of five. Which means I’ve had more sex than any of you.” She indicated the former Peacekeepers with a nod. 

“Uh-” Hope began to speak up.

“Nope. Since I was nineteen, I was in a steady, long-term relationship.” Donna paused for a second. After all, Hope was more than twenty years older than her. “You might have beaten me in quantity, but definitely not in quality.”

Li looked ready to drop dead. Theodosius was laughing out loud. “Very true,” he said. “And unlike you, I have actual proof of having been sexually active.” He glanced in the direction of a small stack of crates in the middle of the room, eager to read the letter written by said proof.

“Yes,” Metteren said, “but you were away from your spouses a lot for work. We had prostitutes practically jumping into our laps every day.”

Donna shrugged. “The days I wasn’t at work made up for it. We sent the kids to my parents’ for the day and had the house to ourselves.” Of course, half the time, she hadn’t had the energy to do anything other than sleep the entire day.

“How middle-class of you,” Li said with a slight smile. He was right. Most families would have hired a nanny, but Dem had never wanted to pay money to entrust their kids to strangers. “But then again, you’re the ideal middle-class couple.”

“Most middle-class families have two breadwinners,” Theodosius pointed out.

“That’s why I said ‘ideal’.” Li leaned against the wall slightly. “You met at university, neither of you having ever been in a relationship before. You go on to find professional success as your husband stays at home and raises the children, who are all smart and capable. It’s the middle-class dream.”

Donna wondered what Dem would make of that analysis. 

“I don’t even want to know what you think of me,” Theodosius said lightly. Before Li could reply, they were all called to queue for their letters. When Donna took hers, the photograph inside fell onto the floor, and she had to crouch down to pick it up.

As always, Laelia was only recognizable because she was holding Inky. The cat sprawled over her lap as if it were his personal property. Octavius had also grown quite a lot. The older kids hadn’t changed too much, though Lars didn’t look quite so skinny anymore. Dem and Alex both had more grey hair, and her parents looked completely unchanged. Donna studied the photograph, bringing it almost to her face in an attempt to see all the details. Had she never noticed before that Laelia had a long scar on her left arm, or was this a new development?

Donna turned to the letter, reading it slowly. Her parents were fine. Alex had bought himself an apartment in Twelve. Dem had been personally congratulated by the manager of the restaurant he worked at for his hard work. Donna had an overall GPA of 3.8 and was planning to ask out Daeho when classes resumed. Lars was going to try out for the soccer team in the spring and had decided that he wanted to be a doctor. Aulus’ history teacher had been fired, pending Depuration. Laelia’s best friend was a revanchist and she didn’t know what to do. Octavius was unhappy that he hadn’t done as well in Science as he had wanted, though according to the list of marks at the bottom, he had done quite well. Inky was very happy with the small tree that had been bought for him and spent half his time gnawing at the leaves.

“That cat is massive,” Li said, leaning over her shoulder. He was holding his family’s letter in his hand. “How’s he doing?” he asked, gesturing at the photo.

“The family bought him an actual tree so he could scratch at it and not at the furniture,” Donna replied. “He’s living in the lap of luxury. First they feed him expensive chicken, now this.” She shook her head slightly. Why her husband spent so much money on Inky was a mystery to her.

“I don’t mean the cat, I mean the husband.”

“His boss personally congratulated him on his hard work,” Donna said proudly. “How’s everyone for you?”

Li shrugged. “Fine. They don’t really say much. Do you know if there’s a gender-neutral word for the child of my sibling?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shame. It’s a bit of a clunky phrase.” Li put the letter in his pocket and turned towards Theodosius. “And how’s your family?” he asked.

“My eldest got it into his head that he wants to be a journalist,” Theodosius replied. Donna walked over towards him, and he gave her the photo. She didn’t know who most of the kids were. Primus was obviously the oldest, but she couldn’t tell Cassius and Marcus apart, and the girls were all approximately the same size, even though the twins were two years older than Charlotte. In Theodosius’ family, Cynthia was the proud holder of Inky, whose fluff was so thick, it didn’t fit onto her lap. “I’ll have to warn him that it’s not as easy to succeed as he thinks.”

“That’s nice.” Li ambled off to talk to Fourrer and Gold. 

Donna studied Theodosius’ photograph more closely. “I think our families are sitting on the same couch.”

“Seriously?” Theodosius took her photo and held the two side-by-side. “You’re right, it _is_ the same couch.”

Hryb marched up to them, looking confused. “How are your kids?” he asked in a strained voice.

“Fine,” Donna said carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“My son was just diagnosed with an intellectual disability.” He was clutching the letter in a fist.

“If it was only caught now, surely it can’t be too severe,” Theodosius pointed out in a soothing voice. Hryb’s son was seven.

Hryb nodded. “I know. It’s only mild. Still, though, what will it be like for him?” He smoothed out the wrinkled paper and reread a few words. “At the end of the year, they’ll decide whether to put him into a specialized program. What if they do, and the other kids in the neighbourhood make fun of him for it? I remember when I was a child, we always teased the kids who were different.” He rubbed at his face with a hand.

“It’s not decided yet,” Donna said. “If he works hard, he should still get good marks.”

“But it’s not fair that my son has to work twice as hard as everyone else to do as well as them!” Hryb complained. He crumpled up the letter and shoved it into a pocket.

“Everyone eventually reaches a point where they can’t get through on just talent,” Donna said, trying to placate the younger man. “He’ll just have a good work ethic from the get-go.”

Hryb nodded. “Phoebus was always a hardworking little one. It never entered my mind that he could be trying to compensate. He actually got mostly C’s on his report card, and a few B’s.” 

“See?” Theodosius said. “He’s doing perfectly adequately in the regular system.”

“I’ll have to get some books, then,” Hryb said, sounding much calmer. “When I get out, I don’t want to make mistakes.” He took the letter out of his pocket, folded it carefully, and put it back in.

“Don’t you want to have him visit?” Donna asked cautiously. “I’m sure it would mean a lot to him to see you.”

“Absolutely not,” Hryb said. “I won’t have him see me in this.” There was an awkward pause. “So, how are your kids doing?”

“Primus got an average of ninety-one,” Theodosius said proudly. “The others got a mix of A’s and B’s.”

“My daughter got a B in organic chemistry and is happy,” Donna said. “Her overall GPA so far is 3.8.”

Hryb raised his eyebrows. “That’s amazing,” he said. “I had a friend who later went to med school, and she hated orgo so much.”

“My son says he wants to become a doctor.”

“That’s nice,” Hryb said. “What marks did he get?”

Donna read through the list. “Mid-nineties in everything except Math, where he got eighty-nine.” While Lars hadn’t said anything about his marks, it was obvious that he was extremely disappointed.

“It’s like he’s cursed.” Hryb shook his head slightly. “In the end, though, only the average counts.”

“Try telling that to a sixteen-year-old who just got eighty-nine in Math.”

Hryb shrugged, spreading out his hands. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” he said. “I’ve only got one child, and he’s seven.”

“Did they send in a new photograph?” Theodosius asked him.

“They sent it too late, it’ll arrive next week.”

The three of them then proceeded to circulate around, looking at everyone’s family photos, until it was time to queue for dinner and parcels. Letter and photo in one pocket and the orange in another, Donna held the tray against her chest with one hand and the parcel under the other arm. She wished Theodosius a happy new year before they were led out and taken to their respective cell blocks. 

“I can’t wait to eat the orange,” Weiss said to her as they walked down the corridor. 

“Same.” Weiss stopped at her cell. “Enjoy!”

“You, too.” 

Donna nodded and continued walking to her cell as Weiss entered hers. The first thing she did was eat dinner, leaving the orange for later. Then, she carefully opened up the package, folding the paper and putting it aside. She’d throw it out the next day. Donna laid out the clothes on her cot, taking a second to admire them. Hidden inside one sock was a nice-smelling bar of soap. Donna decided to save it for when she was visited. While nobody would be able to smell it through the glass, it would make her feel better about herself.

The socks were knee-length and very thick, and there were three pairs of them. Donna took off her shoes and socks and put on one pair. Putting her feet on the floor, she discovered that she couldn’t feel the cold through them. The thermal underwear, she folded up carefully and put on a shelf, as it wasn’t cold enough right now. It should prove more useful in the spring, when outdoor work began. Last was the shirt. Donna ran her hands over the smooth and soft fabric, touched the little buttons on the elbows that would let her roll up her sleeves and not worry about them coming undone at an inconvenient moment. It was too good for working in, though. Maybe it could be her designated shirt for visits. Donna hung it up on a separate hook, next to her other shirts, which all shared one.

Next, Donna carefully took off last year’s family photo, and put the new one up in its place. She compared everyone’s faces to what they had looked like just a year ago, and sighed. If this was just one year, how much would they have changed in twenty-five? Donna wished Dr. Fisher would hurry up already and get her out of here.

Leaving her orange on the table, Donna left her cell and went to talk with the others. When she got back and the door was locked behind her, she sat down and wrote a thank-you letter for the parcel. She had nineteen and a half sheets of paper, which taunted her constantly, as every sheet had to be accounted for at the end of the week, and only twenty could be in her cell at a time. She didn’t use them for anything other than letter-writing and jotting down thoughts and jokes she wanted to tell others.

_As for you, Laelia, keep in mind that most parents don’t tell their children about the past._ If the censors had permitted the letter to go through, surely they’d allow a reply. _Try to explain the reality to her, but be gentle. It is only natural for her to listen to her parents unquestioningly._ For now, of course. In a few years, it would be the other way around. _If she is insistent, direct her towards the resources I’ve told you about._

Finishing the draft, Donna put it on the table face-down. She’d look over it tomorrow. Picking up a book - a collection of short stories by an author from Sudan that was, according to many, a modern classic - Donna carefully unpeeled her orange. Book lying open in front of her, Donna tore off bits of peel, savouring the smell and the odd stinging sensation it produced in the back of her throat. Once the orange was peeled, she tore it into halves and picked off a slice. She chewed it slowly, savouring the taste.

The turning of a key in her door startled Donna. She had never been visited on New Year’s Eve before. “Happy early New Year,” Dr. Chu said.

“Same to you,” Donna replied, putting aside her book. “Would you like an orange slice?” She still had a quarter of the orange left.

“Oh, no, no, I don’t want to impose.” The psychologist settled down in the chair and handed Donna the teal ball.

“No, really,” Donna said, waving an orange slice in her direction, “I never have anything to offer you.”

Dr. Chu smiled at her, taking the slice. “Thank you!” She nibbled at it delicately. “Delicious.”

Donna shoved another slice into her mouth and nodded. “It’s sweet and sour like nothing else.”

“And I see you’re not wearing shoes today,” Dr. Chu pointed out.

“I got some warm socks today,” Donna said happily. “I can walk around the cell now without shoes.”

“That’s nice. Did you enjoy the get-together this afternoon?”

Donna nodded, and recapped Li’s strange pronouncement. “I’m not sure if his brain just turned off or something,” she said. “I don’t understand how he could think I’m not familiar with sex when I’ve got five kids.” She’d have to share this with Dem in a clandestine note, as the kids would find it too embarrassing to read.

Dr. Chu laughed. “That _is_ a very strange thing to say. Poor Li.” She flipped through her notes. “Now, how have you been this past week?”

“Not too good for a few days, but fine now.” Donna squeezed the ball with one hand, not wanting to get orange juice on it. “I felt empty. And then it just went away. By the way, did you hear about that memorandum?”

Unfortunately, Dr. Chu was much more interested in the depressive episode. Donna rushed through her answers, eager to change the topic to Paume’s memo. They had discussed the mood swings what felt like a hundred times by now, and there was nothing new that Dr. Chu could tell her.

“I see you’re eager to discuss that memorandum,” she eventually said.

“Very much,” Donna agreed. “Did you contribute to it?”

Dr. Chu nodded. “Of course. Paume would have had to dig through the files by himself otherwise.”

“Interesting,” Donna said, eating an orange slice. “Here, you can have the last one.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Chu wrote something down. “What did you think of it?”

Wiping her hand on her shirt, Donna planned her answer. “It was very interesting,” she said, kneading the ball with both hands. “I didn’t know our mental health was so precarious. And I never thought about the future like that. How did the directors react to it?”

“They’re discussing whether to implement any of the recommendations.” Dr. Chu took a small bite of her orange slice. “Whether they will, in the end, is doubtful.”

That much had been easy enough to guess, but having it confirmed still stung. “And what was Paume referring to when he wrote the memo?” Donna asked, curious. “He constantly said that something was precedented or unprecedented, and I don’t think he was referring to the past history of the Supermax.”

Dr. Chu nodded. “Paume told me that he did some research on similar cases in history where the functionaries of the former regime were imprisoned.”

“Interesting,” Donna said. She wished she could get access to some information about these cases, but Dancer was a secretary, not a historian, and in any case, he didn’t have the time to trawl the Web and the library when he had Theodosius’ notes to transcribe.

“What do you think about the recommendations?” Dr. Chu asked. “Here’s a list, in case you have forgotten.” She handed Donna a piece of paper.

“I think the first one has the highest chance of success,” Donna said. “After all, there’s a limit to how much medical equipment they can move here. Also, they might quietly repeal the silence rule at some point. Other than that, I don’t see them putting in the effort.” What Donna wanted to see changed the most was the amount of visits, but she couldn’t imagine the directors unanimously agreeting.

Dr. Chu wrote that down. “You don’t think they’ll consider changing the locks?”

“Too expensive.”

“Even though it’s clearly labelled a fire hazard?”

“Well, maybe.” While the director from Twelve would probably fall over laughing if the inmates all burned up, the directors in general wanted the inmates to live as long as possible. “I suppose that one might get pushed through, yes. Imagine if someone threatened to set the place on fire.”

“You think that might happen?”

Donna nodded. “Of course. Think of all the bomb threats that happened during the trial. The directors will take things seriously. They’re erratically paranoid, after all.”

Dr. Chu chuckled at hearing the term. “They’re considering themselves lucky that only a small handful of people read the memo, and they’re mostly not the joking type.”

“Except us,” Donna pointed out. Seizing the opportunity to find out more, she asked, “How many people have read it?” She’d ask Livia, of course, but a real-time conversation was so much easier.

“I don’t know the exact number, of course, but it’s clear that the average person doesn’t know about it.” That was a relief. The less people discussing the Supermax, the easier it would be to quietly put pressure on the ones in charge. The new president was beginning to slowly wind down Depuration, and appeared to be sympathetic to the idea of getting over the past. Hopefully Donna would be able to spin that to her advantage.

Donna rolled the ball between her palms. “That’s a shame,” she said. “When someone publishes something sensational, they’ll read that, but not this reasoned memorandum.”

“At the end of the day, though, the average person doesn’t care at all about you,” Dr. Chu pointed out. “They read the sensational stories, but it won’t change their opinion of you.” Recent polls had shown that the majority of people all over Panem thought that Depuration had gone on for far too long already, while a sizeable minority of people in the Capitol thought that the IDC trials had been too harsh.

“That’s true,” Donna said with a sigh. “The memo’s too reasoned for both of the extremes. I wish that Paume’s recommendations could be implemented.”

Dr. Chu took out a piece of paper, turned it over, and put it back in. “Which of the recommendations would you most like to see implemented?” she asked.

This was Donna’s chance. Maybe if everyone demanded the same thing, it would be given to them. “More visits,” she said immediately. “I want to see my family more than once a year.” She glanced at the photo tacked up on the wall.

Following her glance, Dr. Chu wrote something down and also looked at the new photo. “Your kids are growing fast,” she said. “And that cat’s lounging like he’s the real master of the house.” Donna smiled. “Who do you see next?”

“My mother, next month. I’ll finally be able to find out what the kids are up to.”

“Anything interesting in the letter?” Dr. Chu asked. “I see you’ve already written a response.”

Donna summarized the letter. “I’m glad the censors let it through,” she said. “Both Aulus and Laelia mention forbidden topics.”

“Hold that thought for now. What other recommendations do you most want to see implemented?”

“The locks,” Donna said. Now that Dr. Chu had brought it up, being stuck in these four walls made her feel slightly anxious. Trying to calm down, she leaned back and took deep breaths, pulling at the ball and letting the rubber snap back. “And the loosening of censorship. If I could tell my mother that I’m having hot flashes or something, that would make her feel much calmer than if I insist that everything’s fine when it’s obviously not fine.” She gathered her knees to her chest. “The funny thing is, my kids do that to me. I always get upset that they’re not being fully open with me, and then I turn around and do the same thing to my parents.”

“That doesn’t sound like something that the relaxation of rules would fix,” Dr. Chu pointed out.

“That’s true,” Donna admitted. “I guess they’re too much like me. Maybe the younger ones will be different, though.” She squeezed the ball between her palms. “Still, maybe if they weren’t so nervous about breaking a rule and having the visit cut short, they’d feel more confident about talking.”

Dr. Chu adjusted her kerchief. “And why are you unwilling to fully open up to your parents?”

Donna shrugged. “I don’t want to worry them,” she said. Before the psychologist could say anything she added, “Yes, I know, the kids probably think the same thing.” She sighed, staring at her knees. “I know my parents just want to make sure I’m doing fine, but I keep on worrying that I’ll stress them out.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Dr. Chu said. 

“I know.” Donna reached for one of her many blank sheets of paper. “Maybe I could write down some answers ahead of time?”

“Will it make you say them, though?”

Donna shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. I need to start thinking of questions to ask, anyway.”

“Let’s work on that, then.” Dr. Chu leaned forward slightly as Donna took pen and paper from the table, as well as a hardcover book to write against. She put the ball down next to her. “What do you want to tell your mother?”

“That sometimes, I don’t feel very well,” Donna said, twisting the pen into a knot. She cringed at hearing her own words. “I know it sounds dumb, but I don’t like telling my parents that kind of stuff. I don’t want them to worry and stress.”

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. “If Donna were to tell you that, would it cause you stress?”

“That’s different,” Donna said. “I’d advise her to get help if she needed it, but otherwise, it’s normal to be overwhelmed in university.”

“But would you worry about her ability to cope with it?”

Donna nodded. “She’s got plenty of people who can help her.”

“And you don’t?”

Twisting the pen in her hands, Donna tried to think of a good answer. “Yes, but the situations are incomparable. I think that my parents still can’t get used to the fact that I’m in prison. Just think about it. They have to call in ahead of time, state their name, wait for half an hour as it’s checked against the list, then wait a week and then be called out of nowhere with the date and time. Then, they get here, have to pass through a myriad of scanners as if they themselves are suspect. Once they’re in the room, there are four people at least in there with us. The list of rules is displayed prominently, and they’re constantly afraid of saying something wrong and having the visit cut short. And then there’s me.” Donna rubbed at her knee, feeling the paint on it. “They couldn’t have imagined me as a convict in their worst nightmares, and on top of everything, I couldn’t be honest at all during the first few visits.” She sighed, craning her head back to stare out the window. “If I said now that I’m having problems, they’d go to pieces.”

“But don’t you think that they feel worse when they think you’re being dishonest?” Dr. Chu pointed out. “I’m sure your mother would feel much calmer if you told her what sort of issues you’re facing and how you’re dealing with them.”

That was true, but Donna had no idea how to be honest with her parents. “Can you help me, then?” she asked, pen hovering over the paper. “I have no idea what to write.”


	53. To Yearn

The pre-visit anxiety began to wrack Donna as soon as she stopped running, and having to watch Renko slowly unravel made it even worse. She was glad to not have to go to the gym immediately after the walk was over. As everyone else took off their outdoor clothes and headed off down the corridor, Donna undressed to the waist and washed herself in the sink with the nice soap. She was sweaty from having run four laps during the half-hour walk.

After quickly toweling herself dry, she put on clean clothes, eager to wear the nice new shirt for the first time. Despite the number on the back, it didn’t feel like her other shirts. Donna ran her hands over and over her arms, feeling the softness of the fabric. 

“Are you done?” the warden in the corridor asked.

“Yes, warden,” Donna said, grabbing her cap and dashing out of her cell. The warden led her to the room where she got her hair cut every month. As short locks of hair fell to the ground and onto her shoulders, Donna studied her face in the mirror. She didn’t look any different from the previous month.

“Who’s the visitor?” the barber asked. Donna had never seen the elderly man before. Assuming that nothing had changed in the hiring scheme, he was from the Districts but lived in the Capitol. Since none of the men had mentioned him before, Donna decided that he had to be very new. She glanced at the warden, who showed no signs of wanting to prevent Donna from talking to him.

“My mother.”

“Ah, that’s nice.” He fell silent for a while. “You’re done,” he eventually said, brushing hair off her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Donna said, standing up and continuing to study herself in the mirror. 

In the visitors’ room, Mom was already sitting, waiting for her. She had a small notebook open in front of her, and her face lit up when she saw Donna walk in. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” Donna sat down, taking the piece of paper with questions and answers on it out of her pocket. She unfolded it and put it on the narrow table in front of her. Next to it, she put her cap. 

“You look much better than last time,” Mom said. “Have you been exercising?”

Donna was shocked Mom could remember what she had looked like before. “Yes,” she replied. “How did you notice?”

“Oh, don’t act so shocked,” Mom said with a slight smile, “as if you can’t tell how the kids have changed!”

Donna doubted that. “I started jogging last year,” she said, not wanting to go down that line of conversation. 

“Like when you were in highschool and university?”

“I stopped jogging in university,” Donna corrected her. “I went hiking a few times with Dem, but that was it. In any case, yes, just like in highschool.”

Mom nodded. “That’s very nice.”

On Donna’s paper, the word ‘Elaborate!’ was underlined several times. “I go jogging every day,” she said. “Right now, I spend all of our outdoor time running. It’s very relaxing. When I started out I was very bad at it, but I think that this summer, I’ll be able to run ten kilometres without stopping.” She was rapidly running out of things to say. “Sometimes I run with others, and sometimes I run on my own. I prefer running on my own, though. It gives me an hour during which I don’t have to think.”

“I’m glad you have the energy to run,” Mom said. Donna recognized the oblique reference to the quality of the food, as did the guards, but they didn’t react. 

Her first instinct was to shrug it away, but she forced herself to provide more detail. “In the beginning I was always tired, but that was because I was very out of shape. Now I have more energy.” Donna couldn’t tell if Mom was reassured by that.

“I can see that,” Mom said, leaning forward a little bit. “You look much better than before. And is that the shirt Demetrius sent you?”

“Yes.” Donna put her elbow against the glass so that Mom could see the fabric up close. “I like it very much. I’ve actually never worn it before, because I don’t want to ruin it.”

“It suits you,” Mom said. “Better than those horrible shirts you wore before.” 

“Thank you.” There was a pause. “How are you?”

Mom made a small, dismissive gesture. “As fine as always. Your father has gotten it into his head that we need to build a shower at the cottage. He’s probably working on the plans right now. He even asked an old architect friend of his for input. Do you remember Briuda?”

Vaguely, Donna recalled a short woman of around fifty, with neon-green hair gelled into spikes. “They worked together for a while, right?” She didn’t mention that Briuda had been fired for showing a lack of patriotism during the Seventy-Fourth Games.

“Yes,” Mom said with a long-suffering sigh. “I thought people are supposed to want to have nothing to do with their jobs once they retire, but it turns out that they simply downgrade from highway overpasses to cottage showers.” Donna laughed, from both the joke and the shock of hearing Mom make a joke. “Once it warms up a bit, the two of us will go build it.” 

“A shower should be nice. I can’t imagine the kids washing out of the sink. How are they, by the way?”

“Everyone’s getting a cold at the same time, but otherwise, fine.” Donna could only imagine how fast diseases spread in such a cramped household. “How’s your health?”

“Everything is as dysfunctional as it should be,” Donna said jokingly. It was annoying that unpredictable bleeding, hot flashes, and feeling like she needed to pee constantly were just a normal part of life, but half of the prison population shared her feelings, and the other half had their own oddities going on. “The orderlies ran out of ibuprofen a while back, though-”

“No talking about internal prison matters!” one of the wardens snapped.

Mom glanced at the four wardens anxiously. “I’m sure everything will be just fine,” she said vaguely.

“Well, yes.” Donna was irritated that she couldn’t reassure her, but Mom knew that she didn’t particularly need medication to decrease pain and bleeding. Hopefully she wouldn’t fret. “Don’t worry about me. I’m the youngest woman here; I’ve got plenty of support for anything that may happen.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s everyone else?” Donna asked.

“Aulus has started thinking about what he wants to do when he grows up, but he changes his mind every other day.”

“He’s got plenty of time to decide.” Aulus was in grade eight. 

Mom glanced down at her notebook. “Oh, yes, and Donna’s going to bring her boyfriend over for dinner in a few days.”

“That’s great!” Donna said. “Tell me how it goes.”

“Yes,” Mom nodded, “it’s nice that she finally has someone steady. With her other significant others, by the time I learned their names, she had already broken up with them!”

_Other_ significant others?

“She dated someone else after Mike?” Donna asked, confused. “But her letters were always about Daeho, Daeho, Daeho!”

“Only in first year,” Mom explained. “She kept on trying to find someone, but it never worked out until she realized she was interested in Daeho. Then, she became reluctant to act, afraid she’d ruin her friendship with him.”

“I figured out that last part,” Donna said uneasily. “I must say, I’m upset I didn’t know about the rest of it.”

Mom shook her head slightly. “I’m sure Donna just didn’t want you to get your hopes up when she wasn’t sure if the relationship would last.”

“What hopes? I know full well most people don’t meet their spouse on their first or second or tenth try. I just want to be aware of what’s going on in my daughter’s life!” Donna tapped her fingers against the table, trying to work through her feelings. She’d need to talk to Dr. Chu about this development. Being aware that she wasn’t seeing the full picture had been bad enough before, and she didn’t want it to become a full-on trust issue. “Tell the kids that they can be as open as they want with me, please,” she said. “I feel like whatever connection we had before is slipping away.” If even Donna wasn’t being fully honest, what could she expect of the younger kids?

“I’ll tell them.” Mom glanced at her notebook. “Are you reading anything interesting right now? You said in your letters that you’ve become interested in the modern classics lately.”

Donna nodded. “I often don’t get the references, but it’s still a nice way to learn about the world.” And it was nice to read about the places Theodosius visited and be able to have an actual conversation with him. “I’m reading a novel by an author from Argentina right now,” she added.

“What’s it about?” 

“It’s about a girl from a small village who goes to university, becomes a doctor, and goes back to her village.” She had a suspicion that the translation was very bad, but then again, there wasn’t much of a market for English translations. “I think it’s supposed to poke fun at stereotypes of various people, but I only get the jokes about the university students.”

Mom’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Well, those are universal,” she said. She looked like she was going to say more, but stopped herself. “Lars is reading a foreign novel in his Literature class right now, and he says it’s easier to understand than he had expected.”

“I know. He told me in the last letter.” Donna was planning to read that book next, so that they could discuss it.

“Do you have anything else interesting going on?”

The only things she could think of were forbidden topics. “Not really. We’re all just waiting for the weather to get better.”

* * *

As Donna began to recount the visit, she could tell that everyone was antsy to tell her something. “What is it you want to tell me?” she asked, irritated at not being able to talk about the visit. It couldn’t be anything too important, as someone would have pulled her over during her jog, but Li looked downright jittery.

“I read a book that gives the perfect metaphor for this,” he said, waving a hand at the gym.

“For this?” Donna asked sceptically. It was impossible to receive books that dealt with similar situations, probably out of the fear that they would somehow permit the inmates to figure out the administration’s secrets. 

Li nodded. “In Jerusalem, there’s a church where a ladder has been in the exact same spot since before the Cataclysm because the multiple communities that have control over it can’t agree on anything.”

Donna laughed out loud. That _was_ reminiscent of the Supermax.

“They’ve actually done renovation work on the ladder to preserve it,” Li added.

“Hard-headedness is universal,” Donna said. She imagined the ladder forlornly standing against a wall as arguments over it raged with an incandescent fury. It was an absurd image. But then again, was that any stranger than thirteen serious military people arguing over whether or not a pair of socks was “too luxurious”?

“Yes,” Theodosius said, “but it’s rarely over something so insignificant. And the fact that they renovated the ladder instead of letting it decay is telling.”

“In any case,” Katz cut in, “how did the visit go?”

“To start with, there’s a new barber,” Donna began. “Have any of you men seen him yet?”

Stein looked confused. “There’s a new barber?”

“What does he look like?” Theodosius asked.

“Older man, medium-brown skin, round eyes, short grey hair.”

Everyone shook their heads. “He must be very new,” Katz said. “What’s he like?”

“Friendly.” Donna untangled her project and started to crochet. “Asked me who was visiting. I think the warden scared him into being quiet, though.”

Katz nodded. “Makes sense, if he’s so new.”

“How’s your mother?” Strata asked, not raising her eyes. She was weaving in the ends at the neck of the sweater. “Did you manage to open up more, as you wanted?”

“My mother’s fine. I think I did better than before, but now I’m worried that she’ll worry more.”

Something crashed to the floor. Donna turned around to see Renko picking up his project from the floor with shaking hands. Pitrock whispered something to him, to which he responded with a hesitant nod. Seized with jealousy, Donna turned back to her crochet.

“He couldn’t sleep at all last night,” Theodosius told her in a low voice. “They had to give him sedatives.”

“I can see that.” Renko looked utterly miserable. It was strange that everyone looked so miserable as their release approached. Even Heatherson and Cast were starting to look gloomy, and they still had several months to go. “I wonder what it’s like for our relatives to watch us be released one by one,” she wondered out loud.

“Probably worse than it is for us,” Theodosius said, wiping his hand on his shirt. “They constantly hear every single outrageous rumour about whether we’re going to be released early or not. They probably don’t know what to believe.”

Li spread out his project on his knees. The administration had recently allowed them yarn in different colours to work with, and Li was busy creating what looked like either a tapestry or a very large blanket. Using what he called corner-to-corner, an abstract image was slowly emerging from out of his hook. It was amazingly bright, an eclectic pattern of various colours that would soon decorate a Community Home. Donna herself couldn’t wait to finish her sweater so that she could make one in a different colour.

“I still don’t understand how you can go diagonally like that,” Strata said, running a hand over the project.

“It’s actually quite simple.” Li bunched up the project and resumed crocheting. “I can show you at some point.”

Shaking her head, Strata withdrew her hand and flexed her fingers. “No, thank you,” she said. “These sweaters are hard enough.”

Donna made a few more stitches before also pausing to flex her fingers. “Should I continue talking about my mother?” she asked. Nods all around. “She and my father are going to build a shower at the cottage.”

“A shower?” Li asked. “Your family’s cottage doesn’t have a shower?”

“Remember,” Theodosius explained, “my wife married way up.”

“Ah, of course.”

“My father even got an old coworker of his to draw up the plans,” Donna said. “I’m glad they’re enjoying retirement.”

Theodosius stretched his back. “I think they’re just seizing on any opportunity to get away from the chaos,” he pointed out. “As soon as my wife’s at home, they’re out of the house.” Cynthia worked as a receptionist in two places at once. Just like Dem, she seldom had two days off in a row.

“That sounds likely,” Li said. “Though shouldn’t it be easier with the kids growing up and all? They won’t be needing constant supervision.”

Not wanting to think about her kids growing up, Donna shook her head. “Imagine trying to deal with so many teenagers at once,” she pointed out, trying to make a joke out of it. “Now that the little ones don’t need to be watched after, they can probably move to the cottage officially.”

“Why not just make the older ones watch after the younger ones?” Strata asked. “That’s how we did things when I was little.”

Theodosius ran a hand over his hair. “Because they all think that someone else is doing the watching and hole up in their rooms on their computers or go out with friends, and in the meanwhile, the house turns into even more of a disaster area than usual.”

Li nodded. “The child with seven nannies has a missing eye.”

“Exactly,” Stein said. “I remember once when I was little, my aunt thought my uncle was watching me, and my uncle thought my aunt was watching me, and I ended up nearly drowning in the well.”

“Was that when your mom decked your aunt?” Katz asked. “I think you might have mentioned that before.”

“Maybe. I don’t recall them ever coming to blows other than that one time.” Stein looked at Donna. “What else did your mother say?”

“My daughter’s going to bring her new boyfriend over for dinner.”

Katz nodded approvingly. “That’s good. Life is much better with a steady relationship,” said the woman who had never had a steady relationship.

“Is he good at anything?” Li asked. “I know her ex motivated her to do better in school, but what does this new squeeze give her?”

Donna shrugged, not showing how much Li’s phrasing made her cringe inwardly. “As far as I can tell, they simply enjoy each other’s company and are good friends. They study together, but they’re on the same level.”

“Can he cook?” Strata asked. 

“Donna already cooks, she doesn’t need someone to bake her cookies,” Donna pointed out. “But he does, yes.”

Theodosius looked at Donna. “I’ll have to ask the kids if they approve of him,” he said in a light voice.

“Ask the cat while you’re at it.”

* * *

As the afternoon drew towards its end, the odd numbers discussed the European tribunal that would be opening in a few months. “How long are they going to take?” Strata wondered. “At this rate, everyone will just give up and go home.” She sounded like she wouldn’t be too upset if that happened.

“Ours took something like five months to set up, and only because of the preliminary research they had already done by that point,” Donna pointed out. “They’ve also got language issues. Think of all the documents they need to translate.” 

“ _The World_ says they’re making good progress,” Theodosius said optimistically. “I, for one, look forward to seeing how it goes. Hopefully the lack of funding won’t hamstring them.”

“What I don’t understand,” Katz said, “is why the rich countries put so much effort into putting us in here, and now don’t lift a finger to help deal with that mercenary leader.” That was, as always, exaggeration. Foreign humanitarian aid had only helped the trial indirectly, by improving the food situation and letting the government not have to worry about famine.

Li snorted. “Because it’s Europe. They’ve got more warlords there than they know what to do with. We, though, were something unique.” He sounded a little bit proud of that. “I think everyone was just curious to see what in the world was going on in here.”

“That’s another thing,” Katz continued. “They’ve got one so-called band awaiting trial, but what about the others? What’s the point of having law when it’s not being consistently applied?”

Donna shrugged. “At least it’s something,” she said. “When a serial killer is caught, everyone knows that there are more out there. But that doesn’t delegitimize the punishment of the captured one. It just means that more work has to be done.”

Stein leaned forward. “Personally, I don’t see how one nation can judge another.”

“They’re not judging a nation,” Donna said for what felt like the hundredth time, “but several people who took over territory in multiple nations.”

“Still, though. I don’t think international tribunals are valid.”

“You and every single lawyer who ever had to defend someone facing one,” Theodosius muttered. 

A ghost of a smile passed across Strata’s face. “This will all be a moot point if the tribunal never gets going.”

Donna fervently hoped that it would get going, just so that she could see everyone’s reaction. “Don’t you want this all to mean something, instead of being an aberration?” she asked Strata.

Straightening up, Strata glanced at Katz before answering. “Mean something? How can this mean something?” She sounded confused. “Do you _want_ this to be how the world works now?”

“Yes,” Donna replied calmly, keeping an eye on Katz. 

The predictable explosion came. “You _want_ to see more honourable soldiers and honest civil servants tossed into prison just because their side lost?” Katz hissed. She laid down her crochet on her lap, hands on her knees. “You know, when my seven-year-old grand-niece visited last month, her father - my nephew - had to explain why I’m in here. She said, ‘oh, so losing a war means you have to go to jail.’” Katz had told that story twice before.

“Do you honestly think that nothing that went on under your command broke the law?” Theodosius asked, leaning backward.

“Of course not,” Katz said. “There were isolated excesses of the sort that a commander cannot be held accountable for.”

Theodosius leaned backwards even more and nearly fell off the bench. As he tried to stabilize himself, Donna picked up his argument. “Only as long as they are properly dealt with,” she pointed out. 

“Do you honestly think I could waste my time chasing down every single Peacekeeper who slept with an underage whore or punched some uppity local?” Katz asked rhetorically. Before Donna could point out that the fact that so many Peacekeepers were committing crimes said a lot in and of itself, Katz continued. “The only crimes that were committed, we bear no guilt for. We were tools in the hands of the system that you yourself were such an important part of!”

Several former Peacekeepers who sat next to them nodded along. The Two-Capitol division only got worse as time went on.

“I never claimed I wasn’t,” Theodosius said. “And-” he fell silent, shaking his head slightly.

“And-what?” Li asked.

“Nothing. Forgot what I was going to say.” Theodosius resumed crocheting.

There was silence in their little group for a while. Donna listened to the former Peacekeepers agree with Katz, except for Renko, who looked drowsy and jittery at the same time, thanks to the sedatives. His eyes were completely glazed over, and his hands shook as he tried to hold the hook. He had asked to be allowed to take his project home with him instead of undoing it, but the request had been rejected. The former industrialists talked about the alleged amnesties that would hopefully be announced sometime before the lifers died of old age, and the former functionaries - about the European Tribunal. 

“What I do not see,” Oldsmith said imperiously, “is why now? What’s so special about this war? Every other war, they just swapped a province or two and left it at that.” Noticing Theodosius turning in his direction he continued in a louder voice, “And I do not agree that it was somehow worse than the previous ones! Have you read that book about the Third Franco-Italian War I recommended you?”

“Yes, I have,” Theodosius called back, slightly louder than necessary. The twenty-seven of them sat on four small benches, and even whispers carried well. “I amend my position. Yes, the brutality played a role, but the key reason has to be the timing, and thus - the precedent provided by us.” He had only taken that position to annoy Oldsmith, so it wasn’t much of a concession.

Li leaned across Donna. “Wait, how many Franco-Italian wars even were there?” he asked. His knowledge of armed conflicts lagged behind every other aspect of international relations, mostly because he hated to read about war.

“Three, but possibly four, depending on if the skirmishes during this past conflict count as a war,” Katz said. It was hard to keep track of who was at war with whom in Europe. If a country wasn’t trying to bite a chunk out of its neighbours, then it was in a state of civil war.

“You do not have to look so proud of yourself,” Oldsmith said disdainfully. 

Donna and Theodosius both swung their feet over the bench to face him properly. Their former co-defendant was nowhere near as good with his words now as he had been when he and Dovek had tried to rally everyone to a united front of defiance (and sarcasm), but this was not a point Donna was willing to concede. “Of myself?” Donna asked, clutching her project in her hands. “How am I supposed to influence world politics while limited to one side of a page weekly?”

“Not now,” Oldsmith said. “You praised the trial in your closing statement!”

“What sort of legitimacy does a court gain from praise coming from the criminal?” Theodosius asked. 

Oldsmith raised his eyebrows. “Then please explain to me why you said what you said.”

Silence. “I didn’t phrase it properly,” Theodosius eventually said, shaking his head in irritation. 

Donna cut in. “All he meant to say was that it is doubtful that we could have had such a big impact. While it’s significant that roughly a quarter of the defendants came around to accepting the validity of the tribunal, it’s not going to tip the scales.”

“Still, though, think of the impression it made across the world!”

“How am I supposed to know what impression it made?” Theodosius asked innocently. “We’re not allowed to read about our trials.”

Oldsmith glared at him. “Clearly it made a very big one, if they are trying it again. You admit that yourself.”

“Exactly,” Donna said. “What even is the argument here?”

“The argument,” Oldsmith said, voice rising in volume, “is that you should not go around acting so happy that more people will be scapegoated and tossed into prison!” He jabbed a finger in their direction for emphasis. 

Theodosius sighed. “I am not acting happy. I am glad that the law will take over where once only apathy reigned.”

“So you’re saying that it’s a good thing we’re here?” Oldsmith looked at them challengingly, as if they hadn’t been confronted with that question many times before.

“It is not in my place to say if you are here rightfully or not,” Donna said, “but I believe that, on the whole, the judgement pronounced was fair.”

Theodosius was silent. Oldsmith repeated the question. With a small smile that made him look half his age, he leaned forward slightly, cocked his head to the side, and simply said “Yes.”

Donna drank in everyone’s facial expressions before jumping in to prevent anyone from saying anything that would culminate in nobody talking to Theodosius except for her for a solid month or two. “Do you think it’s a bad thing that, instead of stringing us up from the nearest lamp-posts, they tried us and sentenced us to prison?” she asked. “I remember your name written on a placard and hanging from a broken streetlight. His too, in fact.” She gestured at Theodosius. All of them whose names were not featured, including Donna, had laughed their heads off when those photographs had been submitted into evidence during the presentation of the case of the ill-treatment and murder of the Capitol Rebels. She hadn’t been friends with Theodosius back then.

“Exactly,” Theodosius said. “Instead of holding a trial, why not just shoot everyone? Coin wanted that originally, after all. We should count ourselves lucky, and so should the Spanish warlord and his accomplices.”

Oldsmith deflated slightly. “Better doesn’t mean good, though,” he pointed out. “To say that at least we were not simply strung up is damning with faint praise.”

“Still,” Donna insisted, “you forget about that when you complain. We need to keep things in perspective.”

“A slightly less harsh vengeance is still vengeance,” Oldsmith said, energy back. 

Theodosius disagreed. “There were so many trappings of a fair trial,” he said, “that it’s indistinguishable from one. In fact, I would argue that it _was_ one.”

“What trappings?” Oldsmith asked. “They shoved in a variety of Thirteen oddities and called it a fair trial. As if they were any better than us!”

“At the end of the day,” Donna said, “we were the ones who had the Games.”

“And who bombed the children in front of Snow’s residence?”

Theodosius glanced around. The guards showed no signs of emotion. “I didn’t see them judging us,” he said. “Or would you tar the entire Rebellion with the same brush? When you so brusquely deny any attempts to do the same to us?”

“You are being evasive,” Oldsmith accused.

“I have given you my answer a hundred times by now,” Donna sighed. “Assume that it will be the same for the one hundred and first.”

Arms crossed on his chest, Theodosius looked the picture of stubbornness. “I agree,” he said. “Why are you so insistent on hearing the same thing over and over?”

“Because conditions have changed,” Oldsmith said. “This is happening all over again.”

“ _This_?” Donna asked. “No warlord ever sank to the depths that we did.”

Around them, the guards started getting to their feet. The day was over.

Donna put her project on the bench and also got up, stretching carefully. She’d need to think of counter-rebuttals for tomorrow. The former Peacekeepers crowded around Renko, asking him to pass on a message to their families. Of course, they could send a clandestine note any time they wished, but it was better to not draw suspicion. Renko nodded, looking not drowsy anymore, but utterly wrung out. Donna pitied and envied him.

As they milled around, the conversation continued, though Oldsmith didn’t try to confront them. “I wonder what the newspapers will say tomorrow,” Katz mused.

“Probably more of the same,” Strata said as they approached the door. “Mr. Renko, what do you think?” He had been silent the entire afternoon.

“I do not have the words to express how much I do not care,” Renko snarled furiously, spinning around to face them. “I am counting down the seconds until I never again have to hear about industrialists and international tribunals and nonexistent amnesties!” His face crumpled suddenly. “I wasted seven years of my life in here,” he said in a thick voice, and turned around. “It would have been better for the world if I had never been born.”

Donna watched him walk away, aware that she would never see the former Peacekeeper again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the immovable ladder I mentioned: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Status_Quo_(Jerusalem_and_Bethlehem)#'Immovable_ladder'


End file.
